r 


A  SLAYE 


OF 


CIECUMSTANCES 


A  STOEY  OF  NEW  YORK 


BY 


ERNEST   DE  LANCEY  PIERSON 


CHICAGO,  NEW  YORK,  &  SAN  FRANCISCO 

BELFORD,    CLARKE     &     CO. 
PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1888,  BY 
BELFORD,    CLARKE  &   CO. 


THIS  VOLUME  IS  INSCRIBED  WITH  THE  ESTEEM  AND 
REGARD  OF  THE  AUTHOR. 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR: 

THE  FALL  OF  LINDA  JEX 

V(!N  PREPARATION), 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  YOUNG  MAN  IN  MADISON  SQUARE. 

A  BURST  of  music  from  a  brilliantly  lighted  house  facing 
Madison  Square  roused  a  young  man  who  had  been  sleeping 
for  the  past  half  hour  on  one  of  the  hard  benches  under  the 
electric  lamps.  He  yawned,  opened  his  eyes  wearily,  and 
shuffled  off  in  the  direction  of  the  lights  and  of  the  echoes  of 
Strauss  that  sounded  pleasantly  in  the  cold,  deserted  square. 
When  he  arrived  at  the  great  stone  steps  leading  up  to  the 
spacious  doorway  of  the  house,  he  sat  down.  You  could  then 
see  that  he  was  a  very  shabby  young  man,  cowed  and  sullen- 
looking,  and  that  he  wore  an  old  pair  of  carpet  slippers  instead 
of  shoes,  and  was  generally  disreputable. 

Having  seated  himself  on  the  lowest  step  as  comfortably  as 
he  could,  he  began  a  careful  search  of.  all  his  pockets  and  the 
linings  of  his  coat,  and  then  put  what  he  had  found  into  his 
hat.  There  was  a  broken  .clay  pipe,  a  piece  of  a  cigar,  an  old 
pocket-book,  and  a  dirty  visiting  card.  He  threw  the  first 
three  things  into  the  middle  of  the  street,  but  held  the  last  for 
some  time  between  his  thumb  and  finger,  studying  it. 

"Huh!"  he  grunted;  "last  relic  of  a  respectable  existence! 
I  guess  I  shan't  need  you  any  more,"  and  his  face  was 
thoughtful  as  he  tore  the  card  up,  and  looked  out  on  the  cold 
square,  peopled  only  with  shadows  and  outcasts  like  himself. 
Then  he  swore  softly  under  his  breath,  and  seemed  to  feel 
much  relieved.  His  very  shabby  hat  being  removed,  the 
sharp  October  breeze  disturbed  a  tangle  of  brown  curls  that 
were  rather  wasted  on  such  a  dilapidated  object.  His  face, 
too,  was  rather  mild-looking  for  a  night-owl ;  though  it  was 

1 


2  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

pale  and  haggard.  He  hummed  the  tune  over  to  himself,  as 
he  sat  there,  keeping  time  with  his  slippered  feet  on  the  pave- 
ment. 

"  If  I  had  a  waltz  I  might  feel  warmer,"  he  said  to  himself; 
"  but  I  don't  know  but  the  supper  that  comes  afterwards 
would  be  more  of  a  treat,  taking  one  consideration  with 
another.  The  question  just  now  before  the  house  is,  shall  I 
break  a  window  and  thus  earn  my  board  and  lodging  ?  or 
shall  I  knock  down  the  first  man  I  see  and  provide  for  at  least 
six  months  of  the  impenetrable  future  ?  No,  that  won't  do,  for 
the  man  might  strike  back ;  I  guess  I'll  decide  in  favor  of  the 
window." 

As  he  sat  there  soliloquizing,  a  stout  man  in  a  gibus  hat  and 
a  very  light  overcoat  came  along.  He  was  an  excellent  type 
of  the  sleek,  easy-going  man-about-town,  and  carried  himself 
moreover  in  stiff  military  style.  Something  about  the  young 
man  on  the  step  seemed  to  attract  his  attention,  for  he  stopped 
under  the  street  lamp  to  look  back  at  the  lonely,  huddled-up, 
crouching  figure.  The  careful  inspection  he  gave  the  waif 
seemed  to  meet  with  his  approval,  for  he  nodded  to  himself, 
and  then,  swinging  his  cane  in  a  neatly-gloved  hand,  disap- 
peared around  the  corner.  The  young  man  on  the  steps  had 
watched  the  coming  and  going  of  this  sleek,  well-fed  appari- 
tion. By-and-by  he  began  to  nod,  and  soon  his  head  drooped 
and  he  fell  into  a  troubled  doze,  while  the  breeze  made  merry 
with  his  rags  and  with  the  tangled  curls  that  swept  his  fore- 
head. It  may  have  been  an  hour  or  perhaps  only  ten  minutes 
that  he  lay  in  this  condition.  When  he  woke  up  it  was  to  find 
that  the  provokingly  prosperous-looking  individual  in  the 
light  overcoat  had  again  appeared  under  the  lamp-post,  and 
had  resumed  his  scrutinizing  and  speculative  examination. 
He  thought  that  perhaps  he  might  be  dreaming,  and  closed 
his  eyes.  Opening  them  quickly  again,  he  found  the  same 
man  in  the  same  place,  still  regarding  him  with  the  same  look 
of  half  inquiry. 

"  And  who  might  you  be  ? "  asked  the  well-dressed  stranger, 
continuing  his  mental  inventory  of  the  shabby  young  man, 
including  the  slippers. 

"  None  of  your  business,"  was  the  prompt  reply,  as  he  gath- 
ered himself  and  his  rags  together,  and  prepared  to  shuffle 


THE  YOUNG  MAN  IN  MADISON  SQUARE.  3 

away.  ''  If  these  steps  belong  to  you,  take  'em.  They're  none 
too  comfortable  to  sleep  on." 

"  Well,  where  are  you  going  ? "  persisted  the  other. 

"  To  the  devil,  where  you  can  go  too,"  sullenly,  as  he  shuffled 
away,  walking  very  slowly  lest  he  should  lose  his  slippers, 
which  flapped  about  his  feet  and  threatened  to  fall  off. 

The  man  in  the  light  overcoat  burst  into  a  loud  laugh  that 
startled  the  outcasts  on  the  benches  in  the  square,  and  called 
forth  some  profanity  from  the  shabby  young  man. 

"Come,  come,"  he  said,  good-naturedly;  "you're  too  low 
down  in  the  world  to  be  cheeky,  my  good  fellow." 

"Doivt  'good-fellow'  me,"  was  the  savage  reply;  "I'm  not 
your  lackey ;  "  and  he  shook  off  the  detaining  hand  that  rested 
lightly  on  his  arm.  "  What  do  you  want  of  me,  anyway  ?  " 

"  You  shall  know  in  a  moment,  my  fiery  young  friend.  To 
be  brief,  I  should  like  to  be  of  service  to  you.  I  see  you  are 
down,  and  I  would  like  to  put  you  on  your  legs  again." 

The  young  man  examined  him  from  head  to  foot.  "You 
must  be  a  new  type  of  a  philanthropist.  The  last  one  I  met 
wore  goloshes,  and  gave  me  a  tract  on  gluttony.  What  kind 
of  literature  do  you  distribute  to  suffering  humanity  ? "  with 
a  sneer. 

The  other  laughed.  "I  assure  you  that  I  am  a  different 
style  of  Samaritan  than  you  have  ever  encountered  before. 
Allow  me  to  introduce  myself  to  you,"  and  the  stranger  made 
an  elaborate  bow ;  ' '  Captain  Rivington  Shrike,  at  your  ser- 
vice." 

"I cannot  give  you  my  card,'' said  the  other,  "because  I 
have  just  torn  the  last  one  up,"  looking  back  at  the  pieces  of 
pasteboard  that  were  fluttering  over  the  walk.  ' '  I  thought  I 
shouldn't  need  it  any  longer,  or  the  name  either." 

' '  But  really,  my  dear  fellow,  a  man  must  have  some  kind  of  a 
name ;  he  can't  get  along  very  well  without  it,  don't  you  know." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  about  that,"  said  the  ragged  young  man, 
blinking  like  an  owl  in  the  light  of  the  street-lamp;  "  I  never 
got  any  good  out  of  the  name  I  threw  away.  I  think  I'll  try 
a  new  one  and  see  if  I  don't  have  any  better  luck." 

"  Very  sensible  of  you,  I  am  sure,"  said  the  captain,  who 
seemed  vastly  amused-  "  but  I  must  call  you  something." 


4  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

"Call  me  anything  you  like,"  preparing  to  move  off  again. 

"Just  one  moment !    Where  are  you  going  ? " 

"You  are,  it  strikes  me,  unnecessarily  curious.  I  am  going 
to  find  an  alley- way  where  I  can  sleep.  What  are  you  trying 
to  get  out  of  me?" 

"lam  going  to  see  that  to-night  you  are  better  lodged,  to 
begin  with.  I  may  decide  to  do  more,  but  that  will  depend 
pretty  much  on  yourself." 

"Nothing  crooked,  is  it?"  asked  the  other  suspiciously; 
"because  I  had  an  opportunity  to  go  into  the  sawdust  game 
with  a  most  accomplished  swindler." 

"  We  will  talk  about  that  part  of  the  programme  some  other 
time.  I  have  no  doubt  that  we  shall  get  along  famously  to- 
gether. Now,  what  do  you  want  me  to  call  you? " 

"  Oh,  most  anything  will  do.  One  name  is  just  as  good  as 
another  to  me." 

"Well,  I'll  call  you  John  Brent,  if  you  don't  mind.  It's  not 
an  original  name  with  me,  but  it  sounds  well ;  how  do  you  like 
it?" 

"It's  a  kind  of  a  full-dress  name  for  a  man  of  my  limited 
wardrobe,  but  I  guess  it  will  fit  for  the  present." 

"I  got  it  out  of  some  novel,"  said  the  Captain,  "so  it  ought 
to  be  good." 

' '  Having  given  me  a  name,  what  is  the  next  move  ? "  scru- 
tinizing the  mild  blue  eyes  and  round,  smiling  face  that  con- 
fronted him.  "  If  you  are  interested  in  me — and  you  appear 
to  be — I  warn  you  now,  at  the  start,  that  I  am  just  as  likely  to 
repay  any  kindness  you  may  do  me  with  ingratitude  as  not. 
Now,"  relapsing  into  sullenness,  "you  can  use  your  own  dis- 
cretion about  playing  the  good  Samaritan." 

"  I  am  not  going  to  ask  for  any  confidences.  I  have  knocked 
about  the  world  a  good  deal,  and  am  a  tolerable  judge  of  faces. 
Keep  all  your  secrets  locked  up,  if  you  will ;  I  shall  not  search 
for  the  key.  God  knows,  we  all  have  our  little  burying- 
grounds  that  we  don't  care  to  have  disturbed.  I  have  a  select 
assortment  of  ghosts  I  don't  want  to  see  myself.  It  is  a  very 
fortunate  thing  for  you  that  we  met,  however." 

"For  you  or  me?" 

' '  Well,  for  both  of  us.  From  this  hour  I  will  begin  and  see 
if  I  can  improve  your  condition." 


THE  YOUNG  MAN  IN  MADISON  SQUARE.  5 

"There's  a  splendid  field  for  your  labors,"  said  the  young 
man,  with  a  good  deal  of  bitterness  in  his  voice.  "You  can- 
not begin  your  miracles  too  soon  to  suit  me." 

"  I  may  come  in  a  questionable  shape  for  a  good  fairy,"  was 
the  reply ;  "but  I  am  just  as  well  equipped  for  the  task.  You 
are  in  rags,  no  one  will  dispute.  Very  well,  you  shall  shine 
in  broadcloth.  You  have  been  living  like  the  prodigal,  on 
husks." 

"No!  free  lunches,"  interrupted  the  other,  with  a  grim 
attempt  at  humor. 

The  Captain  frowned  at  this  irrelevancy  in  the  midst  of  his 
oratory,  and  went  on : 

' '  Henceforth  you  shall  become  intimately  acquainted  with 
the  flavor  of  Strasbourg  pie ;  in  short,  you  shall  live  as  befits 
a  man  of  gentle  blood,  for,  in  spite  of  the  drawbacks  in  the 
way  of  clothes  and" — looking  at  the  slippers — "shoes,!  am 
sure  you  have  at  some  time  in  your  life  been  an  ornamental  if 
not  valuable  member  of  society.  We  shall  see  what  a  fresh 
start  will  do  for  you.  In  the  first  place — 

The  Captain's  speech  was  cut  short,  as  the  ponderous  door 
of  the  great  house  opened,  showing  a  spacious  hall  lit  by  brass 
lanterns  and  glittering  candelabras,  and,  on  either  side,  lines 
of  lackeys  in  canary-colored  liveries. 

About  the  lights  the  departing  guests  fluttered  like  gay  moths. 
The  carriages  began  to  arrive  suddenly  before  the  door,  and 
Captain  Shrike  thought  it  advisable  to  seek  a  less  conspicuous 
position  in  the  shadow  of  the  stone  lions  guarding  the  entrance. 
John  Brent,  half -hidden  by  his  friend's  portly  form,  listlessly 
watched  the  stream  of  elegantly  dressed  men  and  women  as 
they  tripped  down  the  stone  steps,  an  avalanche  of  satins  and 
broadcloths.  He  heard  the  tinkle  of  French  boots  and  the 
rustle  of  starched  skirts,  but  it  was  half  in  a  doze,  for  he  was 
very  sleepy. 

One  by  one  the  carriages  swept  away  with  their  elegant 
burdens,  and  were  swallowed  up  in  the  darkness.  Two  people 
— the  last  to  go — stood  on  the  steps  waiting  for  their  coupe — a 
lithe  young  girl,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  a  stout,  oily-looking 
man,  whose  face  was  expressive  of  extreme  self-satisfaction 
and  pomposity.  He  was  talking  to  the  lady  in  a  strident 
voice,  but  she  seemed  to  give  little  heed  to  his  words.  Her 


G  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

face  looked  pale  and  tired  in  the  light  of  the  street-lamp.  On 
the  way  to  the  carriage  her  soft  plush  mantle  brushed 
John  Brent  as  he  crouched  in  the  shadow.  It  seemed  to  rouse 
him  up,  and  he  turned  and  looked  at  her  curiously. 

"  Who  is  that  ? "  he  asked,  noticing  that  Captain  Shrike  had 
bowed  to  the  couple. 

"Take  a  good  look  at  her,"  whispered  the  other;  ".that  is 
the  young  lady  you  are  going  to  marry." 

Brent  was  about  to  reply  to  this  remarkable  speech,  when 
the  carriage-door  slammed  with  a  bang,  and  he  felt  the  Cap- 
tain's hand  on  his  arm. 

"  Come,"  said  the  latter;  "it  is  time  I  introduced  you  to  the 
Impecunious  Club." 


CHAPTEE  II. 

THE  IMPECUNIOUS  CLUB. 

A  CLEAN-LOOKING  brick  house  faces  Blackwell's  Island  in  the 
upper  part  of  the  city.  It  is  like  all  the  other  dwellings  in 
Beekman  Place,  except  that  in  front  of  the  oak  door  there  is  a 
horse-block  that  looks  like  a  cake  of  Castile  soap,  and  that 
Venetian  blinds  of  a  peculiarly  ugly  green  cover  the  windows. 

Nothing  at  all  suspicious  about  the  edifice,  you  would  say ; 
and  it  looks  as  if  it  might  be  the  home  of  some  retired  green- 
grocer who  cared  little  for  modern  innovations.  The  back 
porch,  which  overlooks  the  copper-colored  river,  is  a  pleasant 
place  from  which  to  watch  the  shipping,  provided  you  have 
no  aversion  to  bilge-water,  the  odor  of  which  always  seems  to 
hang  in  the  air,  and  gets  into  everything  at  meals,  and  gives 
everyone  a  sailor-like  smell.  When  the  warm  weather  comes 
on,  the  German  families  who  live  on  the  river-front  move  their 
tables  out  in  the  back  yard  of  an  evening,  eat  indigestible 
suppers,  consume  an  alarming  amount  of  liquids,  and  have  a 
general  good  time.  In  number  603,  singing  is  often  heard  at  a 
late  hour ;  but  otherwise  it  is  quiet  enough,  and  the  neighbors 
seem  rather  proud  that  there  is  some  mystery  attachedto  its 
walls.  The  brass  door-plate  exhibits  the  name  "  J.  F.  Jones"; 
but  who  "Jones"  is,  the  inhabitants  of  Beekman  Place  have 
never  made  any  effort  to  find  out,  for  they  are  mostly  a  hard- 
working set  of  householders,  too  intent  on  chasing  the  nimble 
dollar  to  waste  time  in  detective  work. 

The  inhabitants  of  603  seemed  to  be  mostly  young  men  of 
fashion,  who  were  generally  seen  coming  out  of  the  house  in 
the  afternoon,  and  who  returned  very  late  at  night,  after  the 
majority  of  the  good  people  on  the  block  had  been  sleeping 
some  hours.  There  is  nothing  Suspicious  about  the  young  men, 
except  that  they  dress  better  than  anyone  else  in  the  street, 
and  do  not  seem  to  have  any  work  to  do  in  particular. 

7 


8  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

In  this  house,  in  the  second  story  back,  John  Brent  awoke, 
just  as  a  chirpy  little  brass  clock  on  the  mantelpiece  began  to 
strike  the  hour  of  twelve  in  shrill  yet  musical  chimes.  He 
yawned  and  looked  about  him  doubtfully,  wonderingly,  and 
then  rubbed  his  eyes  for  a  moment  and  sat  bolt  upright  in  bed. 
The  room  was  furnished  with  dignified  simplicity.  Every- 
thing was  massive  and  elegant,  and  the  two  large  windows 
commanded  a  fine  view  of  the  river  and  the  shipping.  Brent 
recalled  the  events  of  the  preceding  night  slowly.  He  could 
remember  well  enough  having  met  with  a  stranger  in  a  light 
overcoat;  also  a  beautiful  face  that  flashed  like  a  meteor 
through  his  brain ;  but  that  was  all.  Meanwhile,  he  lay  very 
still,  because  he  was  a  little  afraid  to  move,  lest  the  noisy 
brass  clock  might  walk  away  on  its  smart  little  legs,  and  the 
furniture  collapse  and  sink  through  the  floor  like  a  transfor- 
mation scene  in  a  pantomime.  So  he  lay  very  still,  and 
thought  and  wondered,  and  wondered  and  thought.  At  the 
end  of  five  minutes'  cogitation  he  had  made  up  his  mind  not  to 
be  surprised  at  anything  he  saw  or  heard,  but  to  take  matters 
as  they  came,  with  a  thankful  heart.  He  had  a  philosophic 
mind,  this  young  man,  and  to  step  from  the  gutter  to  such 
comfortable  quarters  astonished  him  for  the  nonce;  but  he 
was  equal  to  the  occasion.  He  got  out  of  bed  finally  and  went 
over  to  the  pier-glass  between  the  two  windows  and  examined 
the  reflection  of  a  tall  young  man  in  a  blue  striped  night-gown 
for  some  moments  meditatively. 

"  Yes,"  he  added,  stroking  a  stubbly  beard  that  sprouted  on 
his  chin ;  ' '  same  man !  same  man !  I  recognize  the  face  at  once. 
Didn't  know  but  that  it  might  have  changed  too,  in  the  night. 
Glad  it's  all  right ;  shouldn't  know  exactly  how  to  get  on  with 
any  other  kind  of  a  face.  What  I  need  in  particular  is  a 
shave." 

He  made  a  face  at  himself  in  the  glass,  and  hummed  a  comic- 
opera  air  as  he  proceeded  to  dress  in  some  clothes  he  found 
at  the  foot  of  the  bed.  He  wondered  not  a  little  what  had 
become  of  his  rags  and  the  terrible  slippers,  but  he  found  he 
had  made  a  good  exchange.  The  new  suit  fitted  him  nicely, 
and  was  decidedly  more  stylish  in  cut,  if  not  so  well  ventilated 
as  that  which  he  had  worn  the  day  before.  After  he  had  com- 
pleted his  toilet  he  looked  at  himself  again  in  the  glass,  and 


THE  IMPECUNIOUS  CLUB.  9 

the  contemplation  of  his  charms  seemed  to  give  him  satisfac- 
tion, for  he  nodded  several  times  approvingly.  Blackwell's 
Island  loomed  up,  with  its  sombre  buildings,  as  he  stood  by 
the  window  and  looked  out  on  the  muddy  river. 

"Well,  I  am  glad  I  didn't  wake  up  over  there,"  with  a 
shiver.  "I  shouldn't  think  anybody  in  this  neighborhood 
would  go  wrong  as  long  as  those  frowning  buildings  were  in 
front  of  their  noses." 

The  sputtering  anthracite  burning  in  the  grate  filled  the 
room  with  a  pleasant  warmth,  and  he  lingered  in  its  glow  as 
he  looked  meditatively  about  the  apartment. 

He  noticed  then  for  the  first  time  that  the  only  pictures  in 
the  place  were  a  row  of  some  twenty  cabinet  photographs  in 
little  oak  frames,  and  that  they  were  all  of  women.  Had  he 
fallen  into  a  modern  blue-beard's  den?  he  wondered,  as  he  went 
closer  to  examine  the  collection. 

It  was  certainly  not  a  gallery  of  national  beauties,  for  the 
majority  were  elderly,  far  from  good-looking,  and  dowdy  to  a 
degree.  One  portrait  over  the  fire-place  attracted  his  atten- 
tion^ It  was  that  of  a  young  girl  of  about  twenty,  an  oval 
face  framed  in  by  a  cluster  of  dark  curls  and  lit  by  a  pair  of 
large,  mournful  eyes.  Brent  started  at  the  sight  of  this  pict- 
ure as  if  the  face  had  been  a  familiar  one.  Somewhere  in  his 
life  he  had  met  the  owner  of  those  eyes,  but  when  and  how  he 
could  not  exactly  recall,  though  he  puzzled  his  brain  for  some 
time.  Through  his  mind  there  flitted  a  number  of  faces 
which  had  figured  in  his  past.  Where  had  he  seen  her?  In 
the  Grand  Theatre,  Detroit,  with  her  husband?  No,  the  carpet- 
dealer's  wife  was  fat  and  considerably  over  thirty.  In  the 
cars  at  Grand  Rapids?  No.  In  the  ballet  at  Niblo's?  Never! 
Was  it  a  face  singled  out  of  a  crowd— a  Macy  shop-girl?  Was 
it — yes,  he  remembered  now;  he  had  seen  her  in  the  street, 
last  night !  It  was  she  he  had  seen  coming  down  the  steps  of 
the  great  house  in  Madison  Square,  with  a  soft  light  on  her 
face,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  the  stout  man  with  the  great 
diamond  in  his  shirt,  and  the  smirk,  and  the  rough,  coarse 
voice.  To  John  Brent  it  seemed  like  a  year  since  she  had 
flashed  by  him.  He  found  himself  studying  the  picture  atten- 
tively. There  was  no  name  on  the  card,  no  clew  to  her  iden- 
tity ;  only  a  number  that  told  nothing.  How  came  the  por- 


10  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

trait  in  that  room?  What  relation  did  she  bear  to  the  jaunty 
man-about-town  he  had  met  the  night  before?  he  found  him- 
self wondering.  Somehow  he  was  not  at  all  pleased  to  find 
her  picture  on  Captain  Shrike's  walls ;  it  was  out  of  place. 

"  Don't  let  me  disturb  you,"  said  a  voice  at  his  elbow;  "I 
am  glad  you  have  the  good  taste  to  pick  out  the  gem  of  my 
collection." 

The  very  man  he  had  been  thinking  about  stood  before  him, 
nodding  and  smiling  in  a  friendly  way. 

"You  recognize  our  little  friend  of  last  evening?"  he  added, 
seating  himself  leisurely  in  the  most  comfortable  chair  in  the 
room,  and  lighting  a  cigarette  with  a  lazy  hand.  "She  is 
rather  pretty." 

"Well,  yes,"  said  Brent;  and  then  he  looked  at  the  picture 
again,  and  at  Shrike's  still  smiling  face,  and  sat  down  and 
began  drumming  on  the  top  of  the  table  nervously  with  his 
fingers.  He  wanted  to  say  something,  and  did  not  know 
exactly  how  to  begin. 

"  Captain,"  he  finally  broke  in,  "  before  we  go  any  further, 
let  us  come  to  some  kind  of  an  understanding.  I  know  too 
much  of  the  world  and  of  men  to  believe  that  you  have  taken 
me  in  from  any  disinterested  motives.  I  used  to  believe  in 
such  unselfish  philanthropy;  I  don't  any  more.  That  was 
before  I  came  to  New  York.  The  question  now  suggests 
itself  forcibly,  What  are  you  going  to  do  for  me,  and  what 
am  I  going  to  do  for  you? " 

"  Exactly,"  said  the  captain,  smiling  and  displaying  a  very 
even  set  of  teeth.  ' '  You  are  quite  right  in  thinking  that  my 
motives  are  purely  selfish.  I  have  a  project  on  hand,  and  I 
needed  help  to  carry  it  out.  Fate  or  the  devil  threw  you 
into  my  hands;  I  thought  you  were  the  very  man  for  my 
purpose;  so  here  you  are,  and  here  I  am." 

"Well,  before  we  go  any  further,"  said  Brent,  impatiently, 
"  what  is  the  Impecunious  Club  ? " 

"  As  you  will  in  all  probability  become  a  member,  it  is  only 
right  you  should  know.  The  Impecunious  Club  is  a  secret 
society,  and  was  founded  by  me  in  1886,  or  rather,  I  thought 
of  the  plan  for  the  club  in  that  year.  When  I  started  it, 
there  were  only  five  members;  it  was  finally  increased  to 
twelve,  and  twelve  has  been  the  limit  ever  since.  To  begin 


THE  IMPECUNIOUS  CLUB.'  H 

with,  we  were  all  men  of  good  family  and  good  looks,  but  con- 
foundedly poor,  and  having  _been  born  with  expensive  tastes 
we  made  up  our  minds  that  the  society  which  stimulated 
extravagance  in  living  should  gratify  those  tastes.  I  was  the 
man  who  solved  the  problem  how  that  was  possible  to  be 
done,  and  the  result  is  that  I  have  enriched  an  army  of  impe- 
cunious friends,  who  now  enjoy  the  luxuries  they  were  born 
to  inherit.  The  club  was  founded  to  fill  a  long-felt  financial 
want.  I  had  made  a  careful  study  of  social  life  in  all  its 
branches,  and  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  too  much 
money  was  being  taken  out  of  the  country  by  foreign  noble- 
men and  adventurers  of  doubtful  character ;  in  other  words, 
that  too  much  American  money  was  being  diverted  from  its 
lawful  channels.  It  was  with  a  view  to  putting  a  stop  to  these 
depredations  from  abroad  that  I  founded  the  Impecunious 
Club."  Captain  Shrike  rolled  out  the  last  sentence  as  tri- 
umphantly as  if  he  were  announcing  the  discovery  of  a  new 
continent. 

"  In  other  words,"  continued  the  captain,  "  the  members  of 
this  club  are  offered  every  facility  to  marry  young  women  of 
property,  whose  only  misfortune  is  that  they  are  rich.  The 
membership  of  the  club  is  strictly  limited  to  twelve.  You, 
for  instance,  will  fill  the  place  of  a  gentleman  who  has  just 
left  us." 

"Dead?"  asked  Brent. 

"No,  next  thing— married,"  said  the  other,  grinning  ami- 
cably. "  That's  the  way  the  beggars  all  do.  Go  off  and  leave 
me,  one  by  one.  Before  the  year's  out  I  expect  an  entirely 
new  set  of  men.  You  will  be  gone,  for  one,"  with  a  laugh. 

"  Then,  if  I  join  the  club—?  " 

"You  will  be  able  to  dress  well,  eat  well,  and  sleep  well,  as 
far  as  your  conscience  is  concerned." 

"  And  how  is  all  this  paid  for?  " 

"Very  simple,  very!  All  you  have  to  do  when  you  marry 
is  to  sign  an  agreement  promising  to  pay  into  the  treasury  of 
the  club  ten  per  cent  of  the  income  you  receive.  See?  " 

"Yes,  I  see;"  and  the  other's  face  grew  very  thoughtful. 
' '  But  what  I  don't  see  is,  how  you  find  men  who  are  ready  to 
go  into  this  scheme  for  trapping  girls  into  marriage." 

"You  would  be  surprised  to  know  that  such  monsters  are 


12  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

very  plentiful  in  New  York  society.  It  is,  after  all,  a  very 
easy  way  of  making  a  fortune.  Now,  I  leave  it  to  you." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  it  is,  when  you  come  down  to  a  question  of 
pure  calculation.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  you  are  consigning 
these  people  to  a  life  of  misery." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that.  You  look  at  the  matter  from  an 
entirely  American  point  of  view.  Schopenhauer  will  bear  me 
out  in  saying  that  a  marriage  is  just  as  likely  to  prove  happy, 
even  if  the  contracting  parties  have  never  met  until  they  reach 
the  church-door.  Besides,  under  the  existing  state  of  things 
in  society,  it  is  possible  for  people  to  live  for  years  in  the  same 
house  and  never  see  each  other  from  one  year's  end  till  the 
next.  All  a  man  in  society  asks  for  is,  that  his  wife  shall 
speak  good  grammar,  look  well  at  the  head  of  a  table,  dress 
well,  be  discreet  in  her  flirtations,  if  she  have  any,  and  not  be 
of  a  too  inquiring  mind.  I  don't  see  why  husbands  of  the 
Impecunious-Club  brand  are  not  just  as  good  as  any  in  the 
market.  The  modern  wife  is  not  exacting;  she  knows  the 
weakness  of  humanity,  and  is  not  looking  for  a  demigod." 

"  Yet  a  man  must  be  wanting  in  self-respect  who  lends  him- 
self to  such  a  scheme,"  said  Brent,  a  little  faintly;  for  some- 
how the  sentences  that  he  wanted  to  use  did  not  formulate 
quickly. 

"  Well,  see  if  you  can't  compromise  with  your  conscience," 
said  Shrike,  with  something  of  a  sneering  tone  in  his  voice ; 
" there  is  certainly  no  compulsion  in  the  matter,"  as  he  rose 
to  go,  with  a  yawn.  "  In  case  you  want  to  back  out — and  I 
sincerely  trust  you  will  not  be  so  foolish,  for  your  own  sake, — 
why,  you  will  find  your — your — the  garments  you  had  on  last 
night  in  yonder  closet,"  with  a  wave  of  the  hand ;  "  and  I  don't 
mind  asking  my  coachman  to  drop  you  off  at  the  place  where 
I  found  you  in  Madison  Square." 

"  But,  Captain—"  faltered  the  young  man,  as  visions  of  that 
cold  step  arose  forcibly  in  his  mind. 

"There,  there,"  said  the  other,  good-naturedly,  "don't  say 
another  word  until  you  have  had  some  breakfast.  You  can't 
be  heroic  on  an  empty  stomach,  and  I  am  going  to  give  you 
all  the  chance  in  the  world  to  make  up  your  mind,"  as  he  bus- 
tled to  the  door.  "  After  you  have  done  justice  to  our  frugal 
fare,  and  want  to  discuss  the  matter  over  calmly,  just  ring 


THE  IMPECUNIOUS  CLUB.  13 

the  bell ;  I  shall  be  down  in  the  library ; "  and  this  peculiar 
individual  disappeared  in  a  flash  of  blue  and  yellow  through 
the  doorway,  leaving  a  very  bewildered  young  man  behind 
him. 

Brent  sat  down  and  eyed  the  fire  thoughtfully.  He  was 
thinking  very  hard,  and  was  in  a  state  of  hesitancy.  His 
views  of  honor  were  perfectly  correct  and  sound,  but  taking 
his  circumstances  into  consideration  the  captain's  offer  was  a 
strong  temptation.  On  the  one  hand  was  want  and  misery, 
on  the  other  a  life  of  ease  and  luxury.  Most  young  men 
of  his  age,  placed  in  the  same  position,  would  not  have 
hesitated  a  moment  about  accepting  the  latter.  Brent  had 
somewhere— perhaps  at  a  mother's  knee — acquired  some  strong 
views  regarding  honor,  though  he  did  not  always  have  the 
courage  of  his  convictions.  He  wanted  to  be  strong,  but  his 
will-power  was  weak ;  and  here  was  a  struggle  that  needed  all 
his  best  energies  and  heroism  of  purpose. 

After  a  while  he  went  over  to  the  closet  and  looked  in.  The 
sight  of  the  familiar  old  rags  and  the  carpet  slippers  em- 
broidered with  cabbage  roses  revived  all  the  misery  he  had 
passed  through.  Could  he  go  back  to  it  now?  he  asked  him- 
self. It  must  have  been  the  sight  of  those  slippers  that  made 
him  slam  the  closet-door  with  an  oath,  and  resume  his  old 
place  by  the  fire. 

"  Shall  I  put  on  those  rags  again? "  he  said  to  himself. 

Then  his  eyes  wandered  over  the  glossy  diagonal  coat  he 
was  wearing,  and  the  neatly-fitting  trousers ;  and  he  sighed. 
The  portrait  over  the  mantelpiece  again  seemed  to  interest 
him,  for  his  eyes  rested  on  it  for  some  time,  as  if  the  contem- 
plation gave  him  pleasure ;  and  at  intervals  he  found  his  eyes 
wandering  to  the  girl's  pure  face,  as  if  he  would  like  to  ask 
her  help. 

A  little  Russia-leather  book  was  lying  on  the  table,  and  in 
an  absent-minded  way  his  fingers  strayed  among  its  leaves. 
It  was  an  address  book,  he  could  see,  and  contained  only  the 
names  of  women,  some  forty  in  all.  He  understood  the  mean- 
ing of  the  book  at  once ;  it  was  the  directory  of  the  eligible 
young  ladies  of  property  of  New  York,  who  were  shining 
marks  for  the  members  of  the  Impecunious  Club.  Those  who 
had  large  properties  had  their  names  marked  with  a  star,  and 


14  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

opposite  each  was  the  amount  of  her  income.  Brent  felt  an 
insatiable  desire  to  know  if  the  young  lady  who  looked  down 
at  him  so  pleasantly  from  above  the  fire-place  was  on  the  list. 
He  noted  the  number  on  the  rim  of  the  photograph,  and  saw 
that  it  corresponded  with  one  in  the  book.  There  he  read, 
"  Tillinghurst,  Marcia;  No.  66,  $000,04."  By  examining  the 
book  he  found  that  the  figures  placed  after  each  name  were 
intended  to  be  read  backwards,  so  that  No.  66  was  credited 
with  an  income  of  forty  thousand. 

"So  that  is  the  young  lady  Captain  Shrike  expects  me  to 
marry,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  his  eyes  wandered  from  the 
name  in  the  book  to  the  picture  on  the  wall,  and  then  back 
again. 

He  felt  rather  ashamed  of  himself  whenever  he  encountered 
those  dark  eyes,  so  he  slammed  the  directory  on  the  table,  and 
strode  over  to  the  window  to  divert  his  thoughts.  He  was 
standing  there,  when  a  neat  old  woman  entered  and  laid  out 
a  savory  breakfast  on  the  table,  retiring  as  silently  as  she 
came. 

Brent  was  looking  out  at  the  muddy  river,  thinking  up  some 
noble  sentiment  to  floor"  Captain  Shrike  with  when  he  saw 
him — a  speech  that  would  cause  that  amiable  villain  to  writhe 
with  shame.  In  the  midst  of  manufacturing  his  rhetorical 
torpedo,  however,  he  got  a  whiff  of  the  fried  chicken  smoking 
on  the  table,  and  somehow  his  sentimental  and  heroic  meta- 
phors got  mixed,  and  the  next  thing  he  knew  he  was  burning 
his  tongue  over  a  cup  of  steaming  mocha. 

When  he  had  quite  finished  the  meal — and  never  was  a 
repast  enjoyed  more,  for  it  was  twenty-four  hours  since  he 
had  tasted  food — he  found  himself  again  looking  at  the  gloomy 
buildings  of  Blackwell's  Island  that  loomed  up  over  the  sugar- 
bowl.  The  weather  had  changed  since  he  had  last  seen  the 
gray  stone  piles,  the  flagged  courts,  and  close-shaven  grass 
plots.  A  drizzling  rain  was  falling  now,  and  what  had  been 
a  bright  bit  of  background  for  the  river  and  the  shipping,  was 
now  a  black  blot,  swimming  in  mist  and  rain. 

"  It  would  have  been  either  that  or  the  river  if  I  had  gone 
on  much  longer,"  he  said  to  himself,  with  a  grimace.  "What 
is  the  difference? " 


THE  IMPECUNIOUS  CLUB.  15 

He  went  over  to  the  corner  and  pulled  the  bell-rope  almost 
savagely,  filling  the  house  with  echoes. 

"Well?"  asked  Captain  Shrike,  as  he  appeared  leisurely  in 
the  doorway. 

"I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  stay/'  was  the  reply. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  MAKING  OF  A  MILLIONAIRE. 

As  Captain  Shrike  drove  down  town  with  his  protege  the 
next  morning,  he  said,  "It  is  now  time  that  we  played  our 
first  cards.  I  will  show  you  how  a  millionaire  may  be  manu- 
factured in  this  great  city  on  a  very  small  amount  of  money. 
New  York  people,  I  have  learned  from  experience,  delight  in 
being  humbugged.  Society  here  is  the  happy  hunting-ground 
for  the  charlatans  of  all  nations.  It  supports  in  regal  style  men 
and  women  who  can't  sing,  and  actors  who  can't  act,  and  lends 
the  protection  of  its  purple  to  people  of  shady  record  and  the 
offscourings  of  foreign  nobility.  The  more  of  a  humbug  you 
are,  the  better  are  your  chances  of  success.  I'm  a  bit  of  a  one 
myself,"  added  the  captain,  with  a  grim  smile,  "and  I  advise 
you  to  become  one  too." 

The  carriage  rolled  into  Fifth  Avenue,  and  John  Brent 
watched  with  interest  the  architectural  panorama  as  it  un- 
folded itself  before  his  eyes.  He  was  still  a  little  bewildered 
at  the  sudden  turn  in  his  fortunes.  The  transition  from  the 
miseries  of  the  old  life  to  the  lazy  luxuries  of  the  new,  was  cer- 
tainly a  pleasant  change;  yet  he  was  a  little  worried  at  the 
price  he  must  eventually  pay  for  it  all. 

Captain  Shrike,  noticing  that  he  was  preoccupied,  imagined 
that  he  had  begun  already  to  repent  of  his  bargain. 

"Come,  come,  this  won't  do,"  nudging  him  with  a  very 
sharp  elbow.  "  Don't  pull  such  a  long  face;  you  are  not  going 
to  be  married  to-day,  don't  you  know.  And  I  say,"  pointing 
suddenly  out  of  the  window,  "there  is  Papa  Tillinghurst's 
house  now.  Ah,  I  thought  that  would  rouse  you,  me  boy,"  as 
the  young  man  followed  with  his  eyes  the  direction  of  the  cap- 
tain's expressive  forefinger.  ' '  Now,  isn't  that  a.better  lodging- 
place  than  a  brown  stone  step?  There's  about  a  million  dollars 
cemented  in  those  walls,  and  the  place  was  deuced  cheap  at 
that.  Some  time  I  shall  be  driving  by  the  house  as  I  am  to- 

16 


THE  MAKING  OF  A  MILLIONAIRE.  17 

day,  and  see  you  lolling  up  there  in  the  bow- window ;  or  per- 
haps you  will  live  in  the  room  over  the  library,"  continued  the 
captain,  in  a  provoking  way.  "What!  you  don't  care? 
Mercy !  what  a  peculiar  man  you  are,  to  be  sure !  Why,  the 
prospect  of  getting  so  much  for  so  little  ought  to  make  you 
wild  with  delight." 

"I  wonder  you  have  never  tried  for  this  brilliant  prize  your- 
self," said  Brent  slowly. 

"Perhaps  I  may  yet,  if  you  don't  seize  the  opportunity,"  the 
other  replied,  with  a  laugh.  "I  know  that  Papa  Tillinghurst 
would  be  only  too  glad  to  have  me  for  a  son-in-law ;  in  fact,  he 
has  said  so  before  this.  I  wonder  sometimes  myself  why  I  let 
such  a  good  chance  slip  by.  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  losing  a 
good  thing.  Perhaps  one  reason  is  because  the  young  lady 
herself  don't  fancy  me  particularly ;  but — oh,  I  say,  just  have  a 
look  at  that  little  woman  going  up  there  on  the  right-hand  side 
of  the  street." 

A  slender,  black-eyed  woman,  in  an  English  ulster  of  huge 
check  pattern,  was  tripping  by,  leading  a  diminutive  little  ter- 
rier by  a  string. 

"That  is  Mrs.  Wilton,"  said  Captain  Shrike,  "Mrs.  Beverly 
Wilton,  late  of  Belair,  West  Virginia.  This  is  the  first  time  I 
have  seen  her  this  year,  unattached  to  a  Southern  general. 
She  rarely  goes  unprovided  with  some  old  military  bore,  full 
of  reminiscences  of  the  civil  war.  I  don't  know  where  she  gets 
such  a  large  and  unfailing  supply  of  the  article,  but  I  suppose 
they  have  come  North  to  fill  up  the  magazines  with  war 
papers.  I  point  Mrs.  Wilton  out  to  you  because  I  admire  her 
greatly.  She  is  the  most  delightful  little  humbug  of  which 
this  great  city  can  boast.  She  has  neither  money  nor  beauty, 
and  yet  she  has  forced  herself  into  a  certain  society,  and  is  get- 
ting gradually  a  grip  on  the  higher  circles.  Talk  about  putting 
your  best  foot  forward !  Why,  she  puts  her  whole  body  for- 
ward, so  to  speak.  She  shares  a  hall  bedroom  with  another 
impecunious  friend,  up  among  the  chimney-pots  of  a  Broadway 
hotel.  Then  she  gives  receptions  once  a  week.  The  proprie- 
tors let  her  have  a  reception-room  on  the  second  floor  on  Tues- 
days, where  you  are  regaled  with  Chatham  Street  claret,  stale 
biscuits,  and  her  reminiscences  of  high  life  at  Belair.  The  de- 
2 


18  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

vices  and  ingenuity  she  uses  to  save  money  would  fill  a  large 
volume.  She  would  dress  well  if  she  had  an  income  of  three 
dollars  a  week;  and  if  she  ever  consents  to  sell  her  soul,  it  will 
be  for  some  new  and  wonderful  garment  that  will  make  all  the 
other  women  in  town  mad  with  envy.  I  heard  a  story  of  her 
the  other  day  that  was  very  amusing.  It  seems  the  hotel  peo- 
ple wanted  to  charge  her  four  dollars  a  week  for  a  fire,  and  she 
knew  that  she  could  not  afford  it.  Something  had  to  be  done, 
however,  for  the  cold  weather  was  coming  on,  and  dresses 
were  getting  more  decollete  than  ever,  so  she  hit  upon  this  in- 
genious scheme.  She  expressed  a  great  Saratoga  trunk  she 
owned  to  a  neighboring  wood-yard,  and  had  it  filled  up  with 
hickory  logs  to  the  brim.  The  trunk  was  about  as  large  as  a 
Central  Park  flat-building,  so  it  held  a  great  deal.  She  then 
had  it  expressed  back  to  her,  and  the  total  cost  of  it  all  was  not 
more  than  a  dollar  and  a  half.  I  tell  you,  Brent,  I  am  posi- 
tively awed  by  the  Napoleonic  way  that  woman  goes  about, 
deceiving  the  world  in  general,  on  such  a  meagre  capital.  As 
dinner-parties  are  a  clear  gain  to  her,  she  seldom  loses  one  dur- 
ing the  season.  I  think  she  must  scent  the  smell  of  the  cook- 
ing afar  off,  like  an  old  war-horse  does  the  smoke  of  battle.  By 
Jove !  I  sometimes  think  I  ought  to  marry  her,  'pon  my  soul  I 
do.  We  should  make  such  a  splendid  pair  to  batten  on  soci- 
ety ; "  and  the  captain  grew  thoughtful,  as  if  he  was  consider- 
ing the  scheme.  "  But  I  hope  I  have  not  been  tiring  you,"  to 
Brent. 

' '  On  the  contrary,  I  have  been  very  much  interested.  But 
where  are  we  heading  for  now?"  as  the  carriage  rolled  into 
Madison  Square. 

"First  to  the  Madison  Bank  to  deposit  $1000  in  your  name. 
You  will  find  it  convenient  to  have  some  money  up-towri  to 
pay  small  bills  with." 

"  Is  it  not  risky  to  put  so  much  money  at  the  disposal  of  a  man 
you  have  only  known  for  twenty -four  hours  ? "  asked  Brent. 
He  was  not  at  all  displeased,  however,  with  the  fact  of  having 
funds  again. 

"Oh,  no,"  the  captain  replied  calmly;  "I  don't  believe  you 
would  stoop  to  crime ;  you  might  be  the  cat's-paw  of  another, 
but  not  of  your  own  accord." 

The  young  man's  face  flushed  at  this  frankness,  but  he  said 


THE  MAKI.\V  OI''  A  MILLIONAIRE.  19 

nothing,  as  the  carriage  had  by  this  time  rolled  up  in  front  of 
the  bank. 

"My  friend  Brent,"  said  Captain  Shrike,  after  introducing 
him  to  the  cashier  when  they  had  entered,  "has  most  of  his 
money  tied  up  in  Western  securities.  As  soon  as  he  is  able  to 
seU  out  to  advantage  I  shall  persuade  him  to  bank  here." 

"I am  quite  sure  we  shall  be  able  to  take  care  of  his  money," 
was  the  reply.  "Stock  in  the  Madison  is  now  forty  above 
par." 

The  deposit  was  made,  and  they  were  bowed  out. 

"That  cashier,"  said  Shrike,  as  they  got  into  the  carriage 
again,  "  is  a  member  of  the  Impecunious  Club.  I  got  him  in 
myself,  because  I  knew  he  would  be  invaluable  to  borrow  money 
or  securities  from.  Leave  it  to  him  to  spread  the  report  that 
you  have  large  funds  in  the  bank.  It  will  be  noised  all  over 
town  in  a  week  that  a  Western  millionaire  is  in  the  market. 
My!  what  a  rush  will  be  made  for  you  by  match-making 
mammas  as  soon  as  you  show  your  nose  in  society !  How  I  do 
delight  in  imposing  on  these  aristocrats ! "  and  the  captain 
rubbed  the  palms  of  his  hands  together  and  grinned. 

Their  next  visit  was  to  Carter  &  Kickshaw's,  the  great 
Fifth  Avenue  tailors,  who  boasted  openly  that  they  charged 
more  for  clothes  than  any  other  house  in  the  city,  and  conse- 
quently had  more  orders  on  hand  generally  than  they  could 
fill.  Here  Brent  allowed  himself  to  be  measured  for  a  number 
of  suits  of  clothes,  suitable  for  every  occasion ;  and  Captain 
Shrike  found  a  chance  to  whisper  in  the  ear  of  the  head  of  the 
firm  that  his  friend  was  a  Western  millionaire,  so  they  were 
at  liberty  to  charge  him  the  stiffest  kind  of  prices. 

' '  Old  Kickshaw, "  he  explained,  when  they  were  again  in 
the  carriage,  "  is  a  most  infernal  old  rascal,  but  he  gets  the 
trade  of  all  the  rich  men  in  the  city,  except  your  esteemed 
father-in-law  elect,  who  has  his  clothes  chopped  out  by  some 
Sixth  Avenue  cloth-butcher;  and  it  is  therefore  the  proper 
caper  to  come  here  and  be  swindled." 

"  What  was  your  reason  for  persuading  me  into  getting  that 
horrible  orange-colored  waistcoat  ? " 

"  Why,  my  dear  fellow,  that  will  be  worth  at  least  a  thou- 
sand dollars  to  you,  'pon  honor,  as  an  advertisement.  You 
see,  it  is  a  new  thing,  and  you  are  probably,  the  first  man  who 


20  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

has  had  the  temerity  to  order  one  from  that  cloth.  The 
worthy  nabobs  are  rushing  there  every  day  now  to  order  their 
winter  suits,  and  they  will  of  course  be  shown  specimens  of 
that  horrible  stuff.  The  exclamations  will  be  universal  that  it 
is  frightful.  Kickshaw  will  retaliate  that  he  has  just  sold  one 
to  the  Western  millionaire,  Mr.  John  Brent.  The  garrulous 
old  liar  will  then  fill  them  up  with  stories  about  your  eccen- 
tricity and  fabulous  wealth,  until  they  are  all  curious  to  see 
you.  Oh !  I  assure  you,  twenty-five  dollars  was  not  thrown 
away  on  that  nightmare  of  a  garment." 

"And  am  I  to  make  a  bill-board  of  myself  for  advertising 
purposes  ? "  asked  Brent,  in  a  rather  disgusted  tone  of  voice. 

"Come,  come,  that's  not  bad,"  said  the  captain,  with  a 
boisterous  laugh.  "  Well,  I  don't  know  but  you  may  regard 
yourself  in  that  light.  Have  you  never  noticed  that  when  a 
show  is  a  particular  humbug,  it  makes  up  for  the  deficiency 
by  the  gorgeousness  of  the  lithographs  and  printing?  Ha,  ha! 
that's  not  bad,  comparing  yourself  to  a  bill-board." 

Brent  frowned,  but  said  nothing. 

"  You  are  not  quite  sure,"  continued  Shrike,  "whether  you 
are  doing  right  in  embarking  in  this  enterprise.  I  regret  to 
see  so  much  pride  in  a  man  of  your  years.  I  used  to  cherish 
a  fine  assortment  of  noble  sentiments  myself  some  years  ago. 
They  are  pretty  shop- worn  now ;  for  the  world,  the  flesh,  and 
the  devil  have  conspired  to  kill  nearly  all  the  good  there  was 
in  me. "  He  did  not  speak  as  if  he  particularly  regretted  his 
lost  illusions,  but  rather  as  if  he  was  glad  they  were  gone. 

"  In  thinking  over  what  you  are 'pleased  to  call  our  enter- 
prise," said  Brent,  "has  it  ever  occurred  to  you  that  perhaps 
the  young  lady  herself  might  put  a  veto  on  your  plans  at  the 
last  moment  ?  Even  while  you  are  bargaining  for  her  hand 
she  may  be  in  love  with  somebody  else." 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  me  boy.  I  have  taken  everything  into 
consideration.  I  know  her  like  a  book,  and  am  sure  she  is 
entirely  unattached.  In  the  first  place,  she  hates  society,  and 
consequently  has  not  had  much  of  a  chance  of  meeting  any- 
body, unless  in  a  clandestine  way,  and  she  is  hardly  the  kind 
of  a  girl  to  fall  in  love  with  a  coachman  or  a  clerk  in  a  dry- 
goods  store." 

"I  should  hardly  think  so." 


THE  MAKING  OF  A  MILLIONAIRE.  21 

"'Now,  you,  I  may  say,  are  rather  good-looking  in  an  effem- 
inate way ;  and,  moreover,  the  history  of  your  life  is  romantic, 
and  will  attract  a  young  girl  who  has  not  dropped  all  her 
illusions." 

"Why,  what  do  you  know  about  my  past  history  ?"  Brent 
asked,  quickly. 

"  Nothing  further  than  last  night.  I  have  a  fertile  imagina- 
tion, though,  and  it  won't  take  me  very  long  to  fit  you  out 
with  a  romantic  career  that  will  make  Haggard  blush  for  his 
laurels.  All  you  have  to  do  is  to  go  in  and  win.  With  the 
financial  and  moral  support  of  the  Impecunious  Club,  defeat 
is  almost  impossible.  Bets  of  two  to  one  are  freely  offered  on 
your  success,  and  no  takers." 

"How  delightful!"  exclaimed  Brent,  with  a  grimace. 
"  How  will  the  Club  begin  the  campaign  ?  " 

"  They  will  be  of  benefit  to  you  in  many  ways.  You  have 
now  a  host  of  mysterious  protectors,  bent  on  your  service. 
As  they  all  move  in  the  best  sets,  they  will  see  that  every 
report  is  circulated  that  is  liable  to  advance  your  cause.  I 
will  teach  you  the  sign  by  which  you  can  recognize  the  mem- 
bers of  the  Club,  wherever  and  whenever  you  meet  them.  In 
case  of  necessity  you  need  have  no  compunctions  about  call- 
ing on  them  for  aid,  either  to  back  up  an  assertion  or  should 
you  run  short  of  money.  You  will  be  sure  to  find  them  ready 
and  willing  to  oblige.  In  a  week,  thanks  to  the  efforts  of  this 
devoted  band,  half  the  women  in  New  York  society  will  have 
a  curiosity  to  see  you.  Now,  mark  my  words." 

"You  are  certainly  a  remarkable  man,  Captain  Shrike," 
said  Brent,  who  was  rather  amazed  at  all  he  heard. 

"  After  lunch, "said  Shrike,  "I  shall  go  over  to  the  Argen- 
tine Club  and  propose  your  name.  There  you  will  get 
acquainted  with  all  the  richest  men  in  town.  For  the  present 
we  shall  allow  you  two  hundred  a  month  for  pocket-money : 
properly  managed,  that  ought  to  be  enough.  When  you  are 
in  the  Club,  always  smoke  the  most  expensive  cigars  and 
drink  the  dearest  wines,  when  you  need  such  things.  Tip  the 
waiters  with  nothing  less  than  a  bank-note.  They  are  the 
greatest  gossips  in  the  world,  and  will  spread  the  story  of  your 
generosity.  I  will  post  you  later  about  the  Western  securi- 
ties you  own.  In  speaking  of  your  investments,  do  so  in  a 


22  A  XL  AYR  OF 

careless  way,  as  if  the  very  mention  of  money  had  become 
tiresome  to  you.  I  would  also  advise  you  to  take  an  expensive 
pew  in  the  Church  of  the  Heavenly  Hope,  and  go  there  regu- 
larly. Many  a  man  have  I  known  to  leave  a  poker-game  Sun- 
day morning  in  order  to  get  to  that  church.  You  see,  it  gives 
people  who  don't  know  you  the  impression  that  you  are  not 
altogether  devoured  with  the  greed  of  money-getting,  and 
have  begun  to  think  of  higher  things.  Oh!  I  tell  you,  it  is  a 
most  paying  investment.  The  rector,  the  Rev.  Sebastian 
Satine,  is  always  ready  to  distribute  a  hundred  dollars  or  more 
among  the  poor  of  the  parish,  and  being  a  man  who  visits  a 
good  deal  among  his  parishioners,  is  sure  to  give  you  good 
advertising  returns." 

"  You  have  laid  out  a  very  attractive  programme  for  me," 
Brent  said,  as  he  concluded. 

"In  an  hour  I  must  be  in  Wall  Street,"  looking  at  his 
watch ;  "  I  suppose  you  have  never  speculated  ? " 

"Never." 

' '  You  don't  look  as  if  you  had  nerve  enough  for  that  sort  of 
work.  Well,  I  shall  buy  a  little  stock  in  your  name  for  the 
present.  It  will  give  you  some  reputation  on  the  Street,  and 
will  certainly  not  cost  me  any  more.  A  few  daring  plunges 
at  first  will  give  the  brokers  something  to  talk  about,  and  will 
be  a  good  advertisement.  But  here  is  the  Brunswick.  We'll 
get  out  and  have  a  snack,"  and  he  rapped  on  the  window  for 
the  coachman  to  stop.  "  To-night,"  he  added,  "  I  shall  want 
your  society  for  a  german  or  something  that  is  to  be  given  by 
Mrs.  Axminster  of  Madison  Avenue.  It  is  time  you  took  your 
first  plunge  in  the  Circean  bowl.  Miss  66  might  turn  up," 
meaningly,  "  and  the  game  would  begin.  For  this  afternoon 
you  can  enjoy  yourself  as  you  think  best.  I  shan't  need  you." 

"You  talk  as  if  you  had  bought  me,"  said  Brent,  with  some 
bitterness  in  his  voice. 

The  other  laughed.  ' '  That's  what  it  amounts  to,  in  cold 
English,  I  suppose;  and  I  am  paying  for  you  on  the  instalment 
plan." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  FALL  OF  J.  CUMMINGS  RAWDON. 

SOME  time  ago  an  enormous  sign  hung  from  a  building  on 
the  north-west  corner  of  Broadway  and  Canal  Street,  that 
could  be  read  with  ease  five  blocks  away.  The  merchant  who 
was  so  anxious  to  claim  public  recognition  in  this  way  was  a 
pompous  Englishman  boasting  of  the  high-sounding  name  of 
J.  Cummings  Rawdon ;  and  he  dealt  in  wholesale  flour.  His 
enemies — and  he  had  a  goodly  number — were  unkind  enough 
to  say  that  he  was  an  escaped  ticket-of-leave  man ;  but,  any- 
way, he  had  gravitated  from  behind  the  counter  of  a  corner 
grocery-store  to  be  the  proprietor  of  a  great  and  flourishing 
trade,  with  dealings  in  Australia  and  Europe,  and  a  financial 
credit  that  seemed  unimpeachable. 

One  day,  up  the  steep  stairs  leading  to  the  main  offices  of 
this  establishment,  a  dingy  and  bedraggled  looking  pedler  was 
toiling,  all  unmindful  of  the  threatening  signs  on  the  walls 
that  forbade  gentlemen  of  his  profession  the  building.  He 
belonged  to  that  irrepressible  army  who  worry  business  men 
early  and  late.  In  his  pack  he  carried  a  rich  and  varied 
assortment  of  suspenders,  collar  buttons,  and  odds-and-ends 
from  Chatham  Street  auction-rooms.  He  seemed  to  be  even 
more  ragged  than  the  generality  of  his  class,  and  shuffled 
along,  with  eyes  on  the  ground,  as  if  he  were  momentarily 
expecting  a  kick,  or  had  lost  something.  Arriving  at  the 
main-office  floor  he  walked  boldly  into  the  private  room  of  the 
great  Rawdon  himself,  and  attempted  to  sell  to  that  eminent 
merchant  a  pair  of  green  suspenders  embroidered  with  sham- 
rocks. To  say  that  J.  Cummings  Rawdon  was  surprised 
would  be  to  put  it  mildly.  For  a  moment  he  stared  at  the 
ragged  apparition  as  if  in  doubt  whether  or  not  to  believe  his 
senses.  If  his  head  clerk  had  asked  for  a  day's  leave  of  ab- 
sence he  could  not  have  been  more  astonished. 

"How — how  did  this  creature  get  in  here? "  he  finally  found 

23 


24  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

strength  to  roar  out.  "Here,  you,"  to  one  of  the  group  of 
frightened  clerks  who  sprang  forward  at  the  sound  of  his 
voice,  "why  don't  you  look  who  comes  in  here?  Go  to  the 
cashier  and  get  your  wages.  I'll  see  if  I  have  got  to  support  a 
lot  of  lazy  dogs  only  to  be  insulted." 

By  this  time  the  unfortunate  pedler  had  been  hustled  out 
of  the  building  with  many  a  parting  kick  from  the  excited 
clerks,  who  left  him  swearing  vociferously  and  vowing  all 
manner  of  unpleasant  things. 

"Be  glad  you  are  not  all  of  you  discharged,"  said  their  em- 
ployer, as  they  returned  sheepishly  to  their  desks.  ' '  The  next 
time,  off  you  go;  "  and  they  knew  he  meant  it. 

That  evening,  as  J.  Cummings  Eawdon  was  walking  up  and 
down  in  front  of  the  doorway  of  his  building,  waiting  for  his 
carriage  to  take  him  home  for  the  day,  he  felt  a  hand  laid 
suddenly  on  his  arm.  He  turned  and  recognized  the  pedler 
who  had  roused  his  ire  that  very  morning. 

"  How  dare  you? "  he  exclaimed,  raising  his  heavy  cane  with 
a  furious  gesture. 

"Drop  that,  governor,"  exclaimed  the  other,  in  a  hoarse 
whisper,  as  he  held  the  other's  arm.  "Drop  it,  I  say;"  and 
there  was  a  look  in  the  man's  sharp  little  eyes  that  made  the 
flour  merchant  tremble. 

"  What  do  you  want  with  me?  Don't  keep  me  waiting,"  he 
stammered,  cursing  the  fact  that  he  saw  no  policeman. 

"  Just  this,  Mr.  J.  Cummings  Rawdon.  You  had  me  kicked 
out  of  your  place  this  morning  same  as  you  would  a  stray  dog. 
Well,  we  don't  always  forget  these  things,  nor  forgive  'em. 
I'll  make  you  crawl  for  this,  some  day,  damn  you  I "  and  he 
was  gone  in  the  crowd. 

"Bah!"  was  Rawdon's  exclamation,  as  he  brushed  off  his 
coat-sleeve,  which  still  bore  the  marks  of  the  pedler's  dirty 
fingers.  ' '  Threats !  idle  threats !  " 

But  somehow  he  was  strangely  thoughtful  as  he  got  into  his 
coupe  and  rode  up-town.  Of  course,  he  could  afford  to  laugh 
at  such  a  miserable  creature ;  yet,  for  many  nights  afterward, 
he  saw  a  fierce,  hungry  face  in  his  dreams,  and  it  worried  him 
strangely. 

Eight  years  from  that  time  the  commercial  world  was 
startled  one  morning  with  the  news  that  the  great  house  of  J. 


TIIE  FALL  OF  J.  CUMMINGS  KAWDON.  '25 

Cummings  Rawdon  had  failed,  with  liabilities  of  over  a  mil- 
lion. No  one  would  believe  at  first  that  the  thing  could  be 
true.  Rawdon  had  never  been  liked  very  much  by  his  busi- 
ness acquaintances,  for  they  envied  him  his  phenomenal 
prosperity,  and  many  were  glad  that  he  was  overthrown. 
Rawdon,  for  some  time  previously,  had  been  borrowing  money 
to  carry  on  his  business;  but  he  had  hoped  to  weather  the 
storm.  He  had  depended  largely  on  the  established  credit  of 
the  house  to  help  him  through  the  emergency,  but  some  one 
seemed  to  be  sec»etly  at  work  to  destroy  his  prestige,  and  it 
was  necessary  to  pay  an  exorbitant  interest  for  every  loan. 
The  crash  came  when  he  least  expected  it,  and  just  at  a 
time  when  he  thought  he  saw  the  way  clear  through  his  diffi- 
culties. It  was  a  crushing  blow  to  the  pompous  pride  and 
insolent  love  of  power  that  had  been  the  leading  characteris- 
tics of  his  narrow  existence.  He  had  lorded  it  so  long  over 
his  fellows  that  he  felt  all  the  more  crushed  and  disgraced. 
Every  cent  had  to  be  given  up  to  his  creditors,  even  the  great 
gilt  sign  which  had  been  his  pride,  and  which  had  shone  like 
a  beacon  of  promise  before  his  eyes  when  he  rolled  down-town 
every  morning  to  his  work. 

A  month  after  Rawdon's  failure  had  been  published  to  the 
world,  he  stood  one  morning  on  the  corner  of  Canal  Street, 
looking  up  listlessly  at  the  building  that  had  once  been  his 
own,  but  was  now  being  remodelled  and  decorated  for  its  new 
purchaser.  A  kind  of  mist  crept  into  his  eyes  as  he  watched 
the  painters  and  gilders  moving  about  their  work,  standing 
unnoticed  on  the  corner  where  he  had  fought  so  many  finan- 
cial battles,  now  a  nobody  lost  in  the  crowd  flowing  back  and 
forth.  It  was  hard  for  him  to  begin  life  over  again,  now  that 
youth  and  strength  were  no  longer  his,  and  old  age  was  creep- 
ing on.  He  had  been  a  hard,  unfeeling  man  all  his  life.  He 
could  not  point  to  one  generous  act  in  all  his  business  career ; 
yet  now  that  his  sceptre  had  gone  from  him,  he  sorrowed, 
even  as  might  a  dethroned  king  whose  palace  was  dust,  and 
whose  throne  was  in  the  hands  of  the  usurper. 

"  That's  a  pretty  fine  building,"  remarked  a  stout  little  man 
in  a  broadcloth  suit,  who  had  rolled  out  of  the  crowd  and 
seemed  to  be  interested  in  the  painters'  work. 

"  Yes,"  said  Rawdon,  in  a  surly  voice, 


£G  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

"  If  the  city  keeps  on  growing  the  way  it  has  for  the  last  ten 
years,  that  property  will  be  worth  a  sight  of  money,"  added 
the  voluble  stranger,  who  had  made  up  his  mind  to  talk.  "  I 
remember  the  old  owner  of  this  place  well  enough,  and  a  pom- 
pous old  party  he  was,  to  be  sure.  He  was  a  man  of  about 
your  build,  I  should  think,"  not  noticing  the  frown.  "  He 
called  himself  J.  Cummings  Rawdon,  though  I  doubt  if  he 
ever  come  honestly  by  the  name.  Any  man  who  would  try  to 
defraud  his  creditors  the  way  he  done  wasn't  a  bit  too  good 
for  anything." 

Rawdon  clinched  his  fingers  nervously  together,  as  if  he 
would  gladly  have  strangled  the  stout  little  stranger  with  the 
mocking,  smiling  face.  He  did  his  best  to  conceal  his  feelings, 
however,  for  he  was  a  little  curious  to  know  what  would  be 
said  of  him,  however  unpleasant  it  might  be. 

"  He  was  a  regular  howlin'  swell,  "  continued  the  loquacious 
little  man ;  ' '  drove  as  fine  a  team  of  horses  as  you  ever  see  in 
your  life,  and  lived  in  high  old  style  up  by  Central  Park.  No 
one  imagined  he  was  going  to  play  out  in  such  a  hurry." 

"  And  what  do  you  imagine  the  reason  was  for  his  sudden 
falling  from  power? "  asked  Rawdon,  who  was  interested  in 
spite  of  himself. 

"  Well,  I  understands  it  were  all  one  man,  and  one  only  as 
brought  this  giant  to  grass." 

"  One  man  ?" 

"So  I  hear  about  town,  and  a  most  curious  story  it  is. 
Sounds  most  like  a  yarn  out  of  a  book  than  anything  else.  It 
seems  that,  some  eight  years  or  so  ago,  this  here  Rawdon,  as 
he  called  himself,  had  a  visit  from  some  poor  devil  of  a  ped- 
ler,  a  mean,  low-down  sort  of  a  party,  who  forced  his  way 
into  the  great  man's  office ;  and  what  do  you  suppose  hap- 
pened then  ? " 

"  I  can't  imagine,"  Rawdon  answered,  feebly. 

"Well,  this  pedler  tried  to  sell  the  old  chap  a  pair  of  sus- 
penders, and  got  kicked  out  of  the  place  in  fine  shape.  But  I 
suppose  I'm  tirin'  you  with  all  this  stuff  ? "  eyeing  the  ex-flour- 
dealer  with  curious  glances. 

"Not  at  all,  not  at  all,"  Rawdon  stammered.  "  On  the  con- 
trary, I  am  quite  interested  in  your  anecdote. " 

"  What  does  this  low-lived  pedler  do  after  bein'  kicked  out 


THE  FALL  OF  J,  CUMMINGS  RAWDON.  27 

so  handsomely  ?  Did  he  feel  like  making  J.  Cummings 
Rawdon  a  Christmas  present  ?  Well,  not  much,  he  didn't. 
He  nailed  Rawdon  that  night  as  he  was  getting  into  his  car- 
riage. They  had  some  hard  words  together.  The  pedler 
swore  he  would  get  square  some  day  for  being  kicked  out. 
He—'1 

But  Rawdon  had  seized  the  little  man  by  the  arm  firmly, 
and  dragged  him  into  the  hall-way  of  the  building. 

' '  How  do  you  know  all  this  ?  "  he  stammered  hoarsely. 
"  Who  in  the  devil's  name  are  you  ? " 

He  was  strangely  excited,  while  the  fat  little  individual 
never  lost  for  a  moment  his  smiling  complacency. 

"Who  am  I  ?."  he  asked,  coolly  shaking  off  the  other's  arm. 
' '  I  don't  see  what  that's  got  to  do  with  the  question ;  but 
you  can  have  it  just  the  same,  if  it  will  do  you  any  good. 
The  fact  is,  they  are  now  in  the  act  of  hanging  out  my  card 
in  the  front  of  the  building;"  and  as  Rawdon  paused,  half- 
stupefied  in  the  dim  light  of  the  hall,  the  little  man  slipped 
by  him  and  up  the  stairs  littered  with  the  debris  of  sawdust 
and  shavings. 

The  ex-flour-dealer  looked  after  the  retreating  figure  with 
bewilderment  written  on  his  countenance.  It  had  all  hap- 
pened in  such  a  short  space  of  time  that  he  could  hardly 
realize  what  had  taken  place.  But  he  knew  that  he  had  met 
his  enemy  face  to  face,  the  unseen  power  that  had  worked 
silently  against  him  all  the  past  five  or  six  years,  the  hidden 
foe  who  had  undermined  the  foundations  of  his  credit,  until 
the  structure  that  had  withstood  so  many  financial  storms 
toppled  to  its  fall  and  overwhelmed  him  in  the  ruins.  Why 
had  he  not  choked  that  little  grinning  devil  when  he  was  in 
his  power,  he  asked  nimself,  stung  with  the  memory  of  the 
other's  taunts.  At  that  moment  he  could  have  committed 
murder.  When  cooler  reflection  came  it  showed  him  the  help- 
lessness of  his  condition.  A  ruined  man,  he  had  no  means  of 
revenge.  The  mercy  he  had  shown  his  rivals  in  the  past  was 
being  meted  out  to  him.  The  encounter  seemed  to  have 
pematurely  aged  him  as  he  stumbled  out  into  the  noise  and 
jar  of  the  street  with  despair  in  his  heart.  He  looked  up  with 
an  unsteady  glance  at  the  name  of  the  man  who  had  ruined 
him,  Two  sturdy  workmen  were  just  swinging  the  heavy 


28  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

sign  into  place  under  the  second-story  windows.  Rawdon 
felt  a  strange  eagerness  to  know  the  name  of  the  man  who, 
alone  and  unaided,  had  been  able  to  pull  down  the  great  busi- 
ness it  had  taken  so  many  years  to  establish.  He  crossed  the 
street  to  the  shadow  of  a  friendly  awning  where  he  could  see 
the  building  without  being  a  conspicuous  figure  in  the  crowd. 
Others  besides  himself  had  gathered  around  the  corner  to  see 
the  great  sign  go  up,  but  they  were  actuated  by  a  different  curi- 
osity than  he.  They  assembled  in  groups,  chatting  about  the 
building,  and  chaffing  the  workmen  over  their  slowness — a 
good-natured  crowd  such  as  springs  up  so  mysteriously  in  a 
New  York  street  when  a  horse  falls  down  or  a  child  is  run 
over,  coming  from  no  one  knows  where,  and  disappearing  as 
strangely  as  it  came.  It  seemed  to  Kawdon,  standing  in  the 
shadow  of  the  opposite  building,  that  the  workmen  dawdled 
over  their  work,  and  he  grew  impatient  and  more  angry. 
At  last  the  sign  was  swung  into  place,  brighter,  larger,  gaudier 
than  the  old  familiar  one  that  had  greeted  him  for  years.  He 
read  the  name  with  swimming  eyes.  The  great  Roman  capi- 
tals seemed  floating  in  fire. 

JOHN  TILLINGHURST. 

GENERAL   BROKER. 

That  was  all.  Just  then  he  caught  sight  of  a  pair  of  beady 
eyea  peering  at  him  over  the  gilt  edge  of  the  sign,  and  a  round, 
grinning  face.  It  seemed  to  him  that  those  fat  lips  were  mov- 
ing, that  they  were  saying,  "Damn  you,  I've  made  you  crawl." 
With  an  oath  he  slunk  away  in  the  crowd,  and  from  that  hour 
the  business  world  heard  no  more  of  J.  Cummings  Rawdon. 


CHAPTER  V. 

AT  THE  ARGENTINE  CLUB. 

"  I  SHALL  certainly  die  laughing,"  exclaimed  Freddy  Pixley, 
overcome  with  hilarity,  as  he  rolled  about  in  the  leather- 
covered  chair  he  was  sitting  in.  Such  members  of  the  club 
as  were  trying  to  read  the  morning's  papers  looked  at  the 
young  man  and  scowled ;  some  even  swore  mildly  to  them- 
selves. 

"  What  idiotic  nonsense  are  you  giggling  at  now,  Freddy  ? " 
asked  Captain  Shrike,  who  had  just  entered,  and  was  leaning 
against  the  edge  of  the  table. 

"Why,  you  see,  Shrike,"  answered  Pixley,  as  soon  as  he 
had  recovered  his  breath,  "I  laid  a  wager  with  Bleek  De 
Peyster  just  noAv,  as  we  sat  here,  that  the  first  person  to  pass 
the  window  during  the  next  quarter  of  an  hour  would  be  black, 
and  he  bet  that  he,  she,  or  it  would  be  white;  and  only  think," 
with  another  uncontrollable  fit  of  laughter,  "if  along  didn't 
come  a  Chinaman ;  and  now  Bleek  wants  to  declare  the  bet 
off.  I  want  you  to  be  the  referee  in  the  matter.  Any  fool 
ought  to  know  that  a  Chinaman  is  nearer  black  than  white. 
You  are  just  in  time  to  decide,  for  I  don't  think  it  is  a  square 
— "  stopping  to  adjust  a  lurid  cravat  of  black  and  orange 
stripes  that  had  worked  its  way  over  his  ears  during  his  con- 
tortions. 

"Oh,  you  would  like  me  to  be  referee,  would  you?"  said 
Captain  Shrike,  admiring  his  shoes.  "I  shall  certainly  not 
encourage  you  in  your  silly  bets." 

"Come  now,  Shrike,  you  are  real  unfriendly ." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it ;  but  I  always  want  to  sit  down  on  you  when, 
you  try  to  make  an  ass  of  yourself.  Can't  you  get  rid  of  your 
money  in  any  other  way  than  by  making  silly  bets  ?  Better 
a  good  deal  buy  lottery  tickets  or  start  a  daily  paper  or — or — 
give  it  to  me." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Freddy,  giggling  again,  "I  know  you  always 

39 


30  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

spend  your  money  sensibly,  you  do!  Oh,  you  rascal,"  poking 
the  captain  in  the  ribs,  much  to  that  gentleman's  disgust,  "  I 
have  found  out  how  you  while  away  the  weary  hours." 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean." 

''Don't,  eh?  You  don't  want  to  know.  Why,  my  boy,  it's 
all  over  town,  pon  my  honor.  West  Thirty-fourth  Street- 
second  flat— deep  mourning— yellow  curls!  Oh,  what  a  sly 
dog  you  are,  to  be  sure !"  And  young  Mr.  Pixley  again  doubled 
himself  up  with  mirth,  while  Captain  Shrike  looked  savage 
enough  to  brain  a  baby. 

It  was  almost  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  only  a  few 
of  the  older  members  of  the  Argentine  Club,  who  had  outlived 
the  possibility  of  sleeping  late,  had  put  in  an  appearance. 

Freddy  Pixley,  better  known  in  the  club  under  the  sobriquet 
of  "XX.,"  because  his  father's  fortune  had  been  made  out  of  a 
famous  ale  of  that  brand,  sat  in  an  embrasure  of  the  window, 
looking  out  on  Fifth  Avenue.  In  appearance  he  was  a  short, 
stubby  little  man,  with  sandy  hair  and  a  pink  complexion. 
Though  he  dressed  with  about  the  same  taste  as  a  stable  boy 
or  a  horse  jockey,  his  face  expressed  more  weakness  than 
depravity.  Had  he  been  born  with  a  pewter  spoon  in  his 
mouth  instead  of  a  gold  one,  it  is  quite  possible  that  in  the  end 
he  would  have  made  a  valuable  member  of  the  community. 
As  it  was,  the  very  kindness  of  his  nature  led  him  into  snares 
and  pitfalls,  which  friends  and  acquaintances  were  always 
ready  to  spread  for  him.  He  was  splendid  game  for  the  thou- 
sands of  men  and  women  who  make  capital  out  of  the  vanities 
of  their  fellow-creatures.  Impecunious  club  men  knew  him  to 
be  a  "  pigeon"  whom  it  required  little  strategy  to  work  ;  and 
women  of  the  world  and  half -world  found  they  could  easily 
twist  the  little  millionaire  around  their  dainty  fingers. 

Yet,  in  spite  of  all  the  drains  upon  his  purse,  his  fortune 
steadily  increased  and  multiplied.  The  judicious  investments 
made  by  the  old  brewer  continued  to  reap  a  golden  harvest, 
and  the  wonderful  luck  that  had  attended  him  in  the  last 
years  of  his  life  had  become  the  heritage  of  the  son.  Freddy 
never  let  the  cares  of  business  worry  him  any,  leaving  the 
entire  charge  of  his  affairs  in  the  hands  of  some  impecunious 
relatives,  who,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  did  the  best  for  his 
interests. 


AT  THE  ARGENTINE  CLUB.  31 

He  lived  in  a  modest  house  in  Irving  Place,  alone  with  his 
sister,  a  young  lady  whose  mission  in  the  world  was  to  keep 
match-making  mammas  from  marrying  him  off  to  their 
daughters.  Freddy  had  managed  so  far  to  elude  the  matri- 
monial noose,  but  he  had  had  many  narrow  escapes.  Lovely 
women  of"  the  very  bluest  blood  had  fainted  again  and  again 
in  his  arms,  and  allowed  him  to  save  them  from  the  waves,  at 
every  resort  on  the  coast  worth  mentioning.  Young  ladies  of 
blood  not  so  blue  had  offered  even  more  tempting  invitations 
to  matrimony  ;  but  though  he  was  no  modern  St.  Anthony, 
he  had  generally  come  out  of  the  fray  smiling  and  in  good 
form. 

This  morning,  Freddy  had  got  up  as  early  as  eight  o'clock, 
owing  to  a  bad  night,  and  was  feeling  rather  shaky.  In 
consequence  of  this,  the  waiter  had  placed  within  easy  reach 
a  pale  lemon-colored  decoction,  known  as  a  Christian  cocktail, 
supposed  by  club-men  to  possess  rare  virtues  as  a  bracer. 

During  the  conversation  above  related,  the  young  man  had 
found  occasion  to  visit  this  beverage  very  frequently,  as  it 
shimmered  seductively  on  a  sorrento  table,  in  a  tall  glass. 

"  I  did't  see  you  at  Mrs.  Boodleton's  last  night,"  said  Captain 
Shrike,  winking  agressively  at  a  little  milliner  who  tripped  by 
on  her  way  to  work,  up  the  avenue. 

"  Not  much!  I  was  afraid  of  being  run  down,  so  I  gave  up 
going  there.  It  got  to  be  a  sort  of  '  money-or-your-life ' 
arrangement." 

"Well,  you  didn't  miss  much,  I  assure  you.  I  shudder  when 
I  think  of  that  glass  of  Ohio  sherry  I  was  forced  to  taste  " — 
with  a  grimace.  "Ugh!  It  was  like  swallowing  a  black 
draught." 

"What  a  humbug  Mrs.  Boodleton  is,  to  be  sure,"  said 
Freddy,  with  his  gurgling  laugh.  "  I  have  run  the  gauntlet  of 
the  whole  crew.  It  is  really  marvellous  how  that  woman 
manages  to  get  into  the  best  set,  and  sport  around  town  with 
her  daughter  as  if  they  really  had  millions.  *  When  you  read 
the  elaborate  accounts  of  their  receptions  in  the  society  papers 
you  would  never  imagine  that  they  hired  a  boarding-house 
parlor  from  two  to  four  one  day  in  the  week,  and  lived  them- 
selves in  the  fourth  story  back." 

"  You  are  a  regular  old  woman  for  gossip,  Freddy.    I  should 


32  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

like  to  know  how  you  manage  to  get  hold  of  everybody's 
private  history." 

"I  haven't  got  on  to  your  record  yet,  old  man,"  with  a 
laugh,  ' '  but  when  I  do  find  the  key  of  your  skeleton-closet, 
look  out  for  me.  I  should  feel  it  my  duty  to  publish  the  whole 
history  in  the  Town  Tattler." 

"  No  one  would  read  it,  I  am  sure,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  the 
captain,  twisting  the  long  ends  of  his  moustache.  "  I  am  afraid 
I  have  led  a  lively,  though  stereotyped  existence.  But,  speak- 
ing of  Mrs.  Boodleton  brings  up — 

"The  devil?" 

"  No,  Dora.  Now  Dora  wouldn't  be  half  bad,  if  she  weren't 
limbed  like  an  English  hunter." 

"Oh,  Do'  is  all  right  in  her  way.  If  I  was  a  marrying  man, 
which  I  am  not,  and  wanted  a  real  ornamental  head-piece  for 
my  table,  I  am  half  sure  that  I  should  go  in  for  that  young 
woman." 

' '  I  hear  that  they  came  near  running  you  down  at  Lennox 
last  year,  and  that  you  had  a  narrow  escape." 

"Yes,  it  was  a  close  shave;  I  had  to  hunt  cover,  they  led 
me  such  a  lively  chase.  Pity  the  mother  will  throw  her  at 
everybody's  head.  She  might  have  married  long  ago  and 
well  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the  old  lady.  I  am  downright  sorry 
for  that  girl." 

"  Don't  begin  to  pity  her,  or  they  may  nail  you  yet." 

' '  Oh,  no,  they  have  given  me  up  as  a  bad  job.  The  mamma 
now  circulates  the  report  that  her  daughter  refused  me  on  the 
ground  of  immorality.  Nice  thing  to  say  about  a  fellow!  No 
wonder  I  feel  like  striking  back.  I  believe  they  are  chasing  up 
that  new  man,  Brent,  poor  fellow!  By  the  way,  Shrike," 
wheeling  around  in  his  chair,  "who  is  he  anyway?  You 
seem  to  be  the  only  one  that  knows  where  the  beggar  came 
from.  Who  is  he,  and  what  is  he?  People  keep  on  asking 
me,  and  I  don't  know  what  to  say." 

"  Oh,  Brent  is  all  right,"  said  Captain  Shrike,  carelessly. 
"The  only  trouble  with  him  is  that  he  is  bothered  with  too 
much  money,  just  like  you.  His  father  and  mine  used  to  be 
old  chums  at  school,  and  that  is  the  way  I  came  to  fall  in 
with  him.  All  his  people  died,  so  he  came  on  East  to  see  life. 


AT  TIIE  ARGENTINE  CLUB.  33 

For  the  old  gentleman's  sake  I  thought  I  would  see  that  he 
was  taken  care  of." 

"And  his  money  too,  I  suppose,"  giggled  Freddy. 

"  Yes,  if  he  wants  me  to.     Good-looking  chap." 

' '  Well,  rather ;  but  not  exactly  in  my  style.  Don't  see  why 
the  women  should  rave  about  him  so." 

"  Of  course  you  don't.  He  has  just  turned  up  in  time  to  put 
your  nose  out  of  joint,  me  boy.  You  won't  be  such  a  social 
martyr  now  that  there  is  a  rival  Richmond  in  the  field.  You 
have  ruled  the  matrimonial  hen-roost  too  long." 

' '  That's  all  very  well ;  but  why  women  fancy  him  I  can- 
not imagine." 

"Well,"  said  the  captain,  rather  rudely,  "  they  have  fancied 
you,  so  no  man  has  a  right  to  despair.  He  is  going  to  invest 
his  money  in  Eastern  securities. " 

"  Why  don't  you  get  him  to  take  a  block  of  my  Pneumatic 
Railroad  stock?  The  first  dividend  will  be — " 

"  Be  still ;  here  comes  Tillinghurst." 

A  stout  little  man  in  a  sleek  broadcloth  suit  approached 
them.  His  round  face  was  wreathed  in  smiles,  causing  his  fat 
cheeks  to  pucker  up  in  strange  pleats,  almost  concealing  his 
beady  little  eyes. 

"  What  were  you  saying  about  Pneumatic  Railroad  stock? " 
he  asked,  extending  a  pudgy  finger  to  shake.  "  I  unloaded  a 
lot  last  week,  and  have  been  glad  of  it  ever  since  ;  "  and  he 
sank  into  a  leather-covered  chair,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  blink- 
ing as  the  sun  fell  across  his  eyes.  "lam  sorry  you  have  got 
so  much  of  it  on  hand,  Freddy,"  he  continued.  "You  may 
have  luck,  but  it  won't  come  out  of  such  lamb's-bait  as  the 
P.  R.  R.  Get  out  while  you  can. " 

"Get  out  yourself,"  said  Freddy,  ungraciously.  "I  dare 
say  you  have  been  hammering  it  down  so  as  to  be  able  to  buy 
it  up  cheap.  When  I  hear  of  you  abusing  a  stock  I  wire  my 
brokers  to  buy  a  big  block  of  it." 

"Come,  come,  gentlemen,  no  snarling!"  said  Shrike,  inter- 
fering good-naturedly.  "  If  you  want  to  use  up  your  strength, 
let  us  have  a  three-handed  game  of  billiards  before  lunch." 

"  Not  much!  I  wouldn't  budge  out  of  this  nook  for  a  thou- 
sand dollars,"  said  Freddy,  curling  himself  up  in  his  chair 
preparatory  to  dozing  off. 
3 


34  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

"And  I,"  said  the  broker,  "  don't  care  to  budge  until  I  have 
had  something  to  eat,"  looking  at  his  watch. 

"  I  am  waiting  for  a  friend,"  the  captain  replied;  "we  can 
have  a  co-operative  snack  if  you  don't  mind.  You  must 
know  John  Brent.  Big  man  in  the  West  ;  used  to  own  a 
whole  county. " 

"  Can't  place  him  now." 

"I  know  he  told  me  he  wanted  to  meet  you.  Has  some 
money  he  wants  to  invest,  I  believe.  Be  gentle  when  you  get 
your  hands  on  his  money.  He  is  a  friend  of  mine." 

"  That  means  you  will  want  fifty  per  cent,  out  of  what  I 
make  from  him,  eh?"  asked  Mr.  Tillinghurst,  with  a  knowing 
leer. 

"  What  a  memory  you  have!  "  Shrike  replied,  looking  un- 
easily at  Freddy,  whose  head  was  nodding. 

"It's  an  expensive  luxury  to  be  a  friend  of  yours  some- 
times," the  broker  continued,  not  noticing  the  other's  frown. 
"  But  where  do  you  lunch  to-day? " 

' '  At  Torretti's.    Ever  been  there  ? " 

"Don't  think  I  have.  I'm  not  much  on  lunch  anyway; 
generally  save  up  for  dinner." 

' '  It's  a  little  hole  in  the  ground  on  Seventeenth  Street.  No 
style  at  all,  but  he  makes  a  salmi  with  white  wine  that  is  a 
dream  and  a  delight.  By  the  way,  how  do  you  like  your  new 
house?" 

"Why  don't  you  come  up  and  see  how  we  like  it?  Nice  sort 
of  friend  you  are,  and  haven't  been  near  us  in  two  months." 

"  Oh,  it  can't  be  as  long  as  that." 

"Yes  it  is,  yes  it  is." 

"Well,  one  reason,  Mr.  Tillinghurst,  is  because  your  daugh- 
ter has  no  particular  fondness  for  yours  truly. " 

"All  your  imagination.  She's  queer,  you  know,  but  she 
means  well.  There  ain't  a  better-hearted  girl  in  New  York." 

"  No  signs  of  her  getting  married  yet? " 

"No  surface  indications,  as  they  say  in  mining  lingo.  There 
ain't  any  call  for  her  to  be  in  a  hurry  as  I  can  see.  If  she 
can't  do  any  better  than  take  one  of  them  giraffes  I  see  up  at 
Mrs.  Axminster's,  why  I  hope  she  may  die  an  old  maid,  that's 
all." 


AT  THE  ARGENTINE  CLUB.  35 

"You  must  miss  the  old  house  a  good  deal,  you  lived  there 
so  many  years." 

"  I  do,  but  I  am  getting  used  to  it.  You  wouldn't  know  our 
parlor  now  at  all." 

"I  suppose  not." 

"  Marcia,  you  know,  is  death  on  having  everything  artistic. 
Consequently  she  has  put  all  the  wax-flowers  and  sea-shells 
that  I  used  to  like  up  in  the  garret,  and  given  that  '  Orphan 
Child '  by  Todgers  away  to  the  cook." 

"I  am  afraid  I  should  approve  of  the  innovations,"  said  the 
captain,  with  a  smile. 

"  Well,  this  artistic  business  may  be  all  right;  I  don't  know 
much  about  it.  But  what  I  do  know  is  that  home  ain't  ex- 
actly home  when  I  don't  see  around  me  the  old  things  I've 
grown  old  looking  at,"  a  little  pathetically.  But  he  spoilt  the 
effect  by  adding,  "But  you  were  saying  something  about 
lunch?" 

"  Here  is  Brent  now,"  as  that  young  man's  graceful  figure 
filled  the  doorway. 

A  luxurious  life,  with  plenty  of  money  and  very  little  to 
trouble  him,  had  transformed  John  Brent  into  a  typical  man 
of  fashion.  He  had  never  been  born  to  fight  the  battles  of  ad- 
versity ;  it  would  have  been  a  shame  to  spoil  those  handsome 
hands  by  rough  toil :  he  had  been  planned  as  a  social  luxury, 
not  a  necessity ;  and  he  looked  at  his  best  in  a  boudoir  or  an 
opera-box. 

He  was  modestly  dressed  in  a  neat-fitting  diagonal  cut-away 
coat  and  gray  tweed  trousers,  and  held  himself  with  military 
exactness.  His  blue  eyes  sparkled,  and  his  entire  expression 
was  one  of  peace  with  the  world  and  mankind  in  general. 
Captain  Shrike  regarded  his  protege  with  much  the  same 
delight  that  Pygmalion  did  the  charms  of  his  creation. 

"You  are  going  to  tell  me  I  am  late,"  said  Brent  pleasantly. 

"Well,  you  are  hardly  on  time."  Then,  turning  to  the 
broker,  ' '  Mr.  Tillinghurst,  this  is  John  Brent,  of  whom  you 
have  heard  me  speak. " 

The  broker  extended  his  pudgy  hand  towards  Brent,  and 
lifted  his  eyes  slowly  to  the  young  man's  face.  Then  he  sank 
back  in  his  chair  trembling  and  pale  as  death. 

"Why,  man,  what  ails  you?"  asked  Shrike,  unable  to  make 


36  A  SLAVE  OF  CIECUMSTANCES. 

out  the  cause  of  the  fear  depicted  on  his  friend's  countenance. 

"Oh,  only  one  of  my  usual  attacks,"  said  the  broker,  at- 
tempting to  smile.  "  I  dare  say  I  frightened  you,  Mr.  Brent. 
It's  my  heart;  always  did  trouble  me  from  a  child." 

"  I  am  sure  you  are  entirely  excusable,"  Brent  replied;  but 
he  was  just  a  little  mystified  at  the  scene. 

"Well,  let  us  go  to  lunch,"  broke  in  the  captain;  "  you 
need  something  to  brace  up  on,  Tillinghurst. " 

"lam  afraid  you  will  have  to  excuse  me,  gentlemen,"  was 
the  reply;  "I  have  had  such  a  shaking  up  that  I  don't  think 
I  could  eat  a  mouthful.  Some  other  day  I  shall  be  most 
happy,"  with  a  peep  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye  at  Brent. 

"  Oh,  nonsense !  You'll  be  all  right  in  a  few  minutes,"  urged 
the  captain. 

"Not  to-day,"  the  broker  answered.  "  But  you  must  bring 
your  friend  up  to  the  house  to  see  us,"  he  added.  His  voice 
still  quavered  from  his  recent  excitement. 

"I  will,  I  will,"  said  the  captain.  "Sorry  you  can't  go 
with  us." 

Mr.  Tillinghurst  looked  pale  and  ill  as  they  said  good  morn- 
ing, and  left  him  huddled  up  in  the  great  arm-chair,  his  flabby 
face  bent  on  his  breast,  his  pudgy  hands  hanging  limp  and 
motionless  at  his  sides. 

The  Captain's  quick  eye  took  in  this  picture  as  he  left  the 
club.  "I  don't  believe  it  was  his  heart  that  troubled  him  at 
all,"  he  said  to  himself;  "it  was  his  conscience.  These  two 
have  met  before !  " 


CHAPTER  VI. 
THE  NABOB'S  HOME. 

WHEN  John  Tillinghurst  became  first  known  to  the  world 
in  general  as  a  philanthropist  and  millionaire,  he  occupied  a 
little,  dirty,  brown-stucco  house  on  the  corner  of  Tenth  Street 
and  University  Place.  A  dingy  old  edifice  it  was,  with  rusty 
iron  gratings  over  the  French  windows,  and  half-covered  with  a 
yellow  vine  that  grew  rank  about  the  walls  that  were  crumbling 
with  decay.  A  peculiar  round  window  in  the  roof  looked  like 
a  blear  eye  to  the  passers-by  in  the  street,  and  gave  the  build- 
ing a  sinister,  not  to  say  mysterious  appearance.  The  old 
house,  however,  was  dear  to  the  broker's  heart,  for  here,  many 
years  ago,  the  patient  white-faced  woman  he  had  called  his 
wife  had  died,  and  here  his  daughter  Marcia  had  grown  up 
under  his  care  to  beautiful  Avomanhood.  He  had  taken  the  old 
house  when  he  was  a  comparatively  poor  man,  and  had  hoped 
to  die  as  he  had  lived,  in  the  shadow  of  its  mouldy  walls ;  but 
as  he  grew  richer  every  year,  he  became  ambitious,  and 
wanted  a  palace  of  his  own,  if  only  to  be  on  an  architectural 
level  with  his  rivals. 

Tillinghurst  was  very  proud  of  his  daughter,  but  he  was 
also  somewhat  afraid  of  her.  She  seemed  to  know  more  about 
the  world  in  general  than  he  did,  with  all  his  years  of  experi- 
ence. When  he  went  out  with  her  first  in  society,  he  allowed 
her  to  do  all  the  talking.  He  knew  his  own  shortcomings, 
and  was  a  little  afraid  to  say  much  or  express  an  opinion,  lest 
he  should  disgrace  himself  before  the  lovely  young  woman  he 
was  privileged  to  call  his  daughter.  As  his  fortune  continued 
to  grow  and  multiply,  and  his  power  increased,  some  of  this 
feeling  of  diffidence  wore  off.  People  began  to  make  much  of 
him,  and  though  he  saw  through  every  scheme  to  win  his 
favor,  he  accepted  the  homage  as  one  of  the  perquisites  of 
fortune,  and  became  more  confident  in  his  conversation.  As 
he  told  a  snuffy  old  man  who  used  to  play  cribbage  with  him 

37 


38  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

once  a  week,  "  If  I  can't  fetch  people  with  my  brains,  I  can 
with  my  money ;  and  I  don't  see  as  it  makes  much  difference 
which  way  you  take  'em." 

After  Marcia  had  graduated  from  a  fashionable  boarding- 
school,  and  had  settled  down  with  her  books  and  music,  her 
father  had  expressed  a  desire  that  she  should  have  a  com- 
panion, but  had  finally  been  persuaded  that  such  a  thing 
would  be  an  unnecessary  luxury.  Marcia  argued  that  she 
was  quite  able  to  take  care  of  herself,  and  that  a  companion 
would  be  only  in  the  way.  To  tell  the  truth,  she  was  a  little 
afraid  that  bringing  such  a  commodity  into  the  house  would 
result  in  her  father's  second  marriage,  and  she  was  not 
prepared  to  see  him  make  a  fool  of  himself.  He  was  an 
unintellectual  companion  for  a  girl  of  her  attainments,  but 
he  was  fond  of  her  in  his  rough  way,  and  she  returned  the 
affection  with  fervor. 

Tillinghurst  had  great  aims  for  his  daughter.  He  wanted 
her  to  become  a  social  star,  to  be  mentioned  in  all  the  society 
papers,  and  have  her  dresses  talked  about  all  over  town. 
Her  inclinations  were  entirely  different,  and  they  often 
clashed  when  the  subject  of  her  going  out  more  into  the  world 
came  up.  She  wanted  to  lead  a  quiet  existence,  removed  from 
the  worries  and  cares  of  fashionable  life.  She  had  a  moderate 
opinion  of  her  capabilities.  The  praise  of  intelligent  minds 
she  enjoyed,  but  for  the  commendation  of  the  fools  that  made 
up  the  crowd  she  cared  nothing.  Belonging  to  the  nouveaux 
riches,  she  was  thrown  very  little  into  the  company  of  brainy 
people,  and  consequently  took  more  pleasure  in  books  than  in 
the  doubtful  dissipations  of  the  reception  and  kettledrum.  Her 
father  could  not  understand  this  apathy;  he  thought  it  was 
one  of  the  benefits  of  riches  to  be  able  to  move*  on  a  higher 
plane  than  your  less  fortunate  neighbors.  What  was  the 
good  of  having  money  if  you  couldn't  look  down  on  your  fel- 
lows who  lagged  in  the  race?  Marcia  wanted  most  to  be  let 
alone  to  find  her  pleasure  in  books,  and  in  the  old  piano,  with 
its  yellow  keys,  that  had  been  a  friend  from  childhood.  Her 
father  allowed  her  plenty  of  pocket-money,  and  she  expended 
it  wisely  on  the  wants  of  the  poor  people  in  the  neighborhood. 
It  seemed  to  her,  in  a  measure,  a  compensation  that  the 
daughter  should  return  some  of  the  money  her  father  had 


TEE  NABOB'S  HOME.  39 

wrested  from  the  poor ;  for  John  Tillinghurst  was  a  hard  man 
to  work  for,  and  Shylock-like,  he  demanded  his  pound  of  flesh 
from  those  beneath  him. 

When  he  found  himself  a  millionaire  he  began  to  think  of 
building  a  new  house.  He  had  purchased  the  site  of  the  old 
aqueduct  between  Forty-first  and  Forty-second  streets  some 
years  before,  with  a  view  to  some  day  building  on  it.  He 
spoke  of  the  plan  one  day  to  his  daughter,  and  seemed  elated 
at  the  prospect  of  leaving  University  Place. 

Marcia  had  expected  that,  sooner  or  later,  he  would  want  to 
build  further  up  town,  where  most  of  his  business  acquaint- 
ances had  their  homes.  But  it  was  not  without  some  pangs 
that  she  thought  of  leaving  the  old  house  and  its  dingy  little 
garden.  She  was  an  old-fashioned  girl,  and  disliked  changes, 
a  feeling  she  doubtless  inherited  from  her  mother,  who  xised 
generally  to  take  to  her  bed  for  a  week  when  they  moved  to 
any  new  place.  She  consented  readily  to  her  father's  plans, 
but  she  could  not  share  in  his  enthusiasm.  It  was  with  sin- 
cere regret  in  her  heart  that  she  bade  good-bye  to  the  dirty 
old  stucco  walls  that  she  loved,  and  moved  into  the  great 
Moorish  palace  which  her  father  had  reared  as  a  monument  to 
his  success.  Most  of  all  did  she  regret  leaving  her  poor  pen- 
sioners behind  her;  but  she  often  found  opportunity  to  slip 
away  to  the  crowded  tenements,  where  many  a  poor  soul 
looked  forward  to  her  coming.  Society  was  at  her  feet,  if  she 
had  wanted  it.  Her  father  was  a  very  rich  man,  but  he  was 
not,  as  everyone  supposed,  the  richest  man  in  the  city.  In 
consequence  of  the  absurd  reports  regarding  the  Tillinghurst 
fortune,  the  girl  had  been  for  a  time  besieged  with  suitors.  Her 
father,  who  was  mortally  afraid  that  she  would  marry  and 
leave  him  alone  in  that  vast  house,  proved  an  admirable  buffer 
in  keeping  objectionable  young  men  away.  In  his  eyes  objec- 
tionable men  Avere  young  men  without  money. 

Every  attack  made  by  the  fortune-hunters  being  repulsed, 
they  retired  in  good  order  and  left  her  alone.  It  was  even 
rumored  by  the  disgruntled  that  she  had  taken  vows  of 
chastity,  and  intended  to  enter  a  convent  at  twenty -five.  Lit- 
tle cared  she  what  they  thought;  her  simple  life  was 
hardly  changed  after  she  came  to  live  in  the  Fifth  Avenue 


40  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

mansion.  Nor  did  its  grandeur  in  the  least  turn  her  head,  or 
stimulate  a  desire  for  much  society. 

Her  father,  try  as  he  would  to  overcome  the  feeling,  was 
home-sick  in  his  palace,  and  longed  for  the  old  home  in  Uni- 
versity Place.  Many  an  evening  he  would  slip  away  down 
town  and  take  a  look  at  the  mouldy  old  place  that  had  been 
the  scene  of  his  early  joys  and  sorrows,  and  leaning  on  its 
rusty  railings,  would  live  the  past  over  again. 

The  formalities  he  was  compelled  to  observe  as  the  propri- 
etor of  a  Fifth  Avenue  mansion  were  irritating  to  a  man  who, 
all  his  life,  had  never  been  worried  with  the  exigencies  of  po- 
lite society.  The  very  presence  of  his  servants  (and  he  had  an 
army  of  them)  were  a  standing  menace  to  his  happiness.  He 
was  often  tempted  to  kick  the  melancholy -looking  butler,  who 
seemed  to  be  counting  every  mouthful  that  he  took  at  his  meals. 

But  the  house  had  been  one  of  his  pet  hobbies,  and  with  his 
usual  grit  he  resolved  to  stand  by  it.  He  felt  that  his  self- 
imposed  martyrdom  might  result  in  Marcia's  lasting  happi- 
ness ;  and  as  for  himself,  he  could  get  his  amusement  out  of 
daring  speculations  and  plunges  in  the  commercial  whirlpool. 
He  took  a  certain  pride  in  his  house,  though  he  did  not  enjoy 
it.  When  he  came  home  every  afternoon  at  five  o'clock,  he 
would  ramble  through  the  various  rooms,  look  at  his  figure 
reflected  in  the  myriad  mirrors  on  the  walls,  smooth  out  the 
Chinese  silk  curtains  on  the  windows,  and  pass  his  hands  over 
the  plush  on  the  furniture,  as  if  he  were  caressing  a  pet  cat. 
Poor  millionaire !  He  tried  hard  to  enjoy  his  elegant  drawing- 
rooms,  but  he  never  left  them  for  his  little  den  over  the 
kitchen  without  a  sigh  of  relief. 

The  day  Mr.  Tillinghurst  encountered  John  Brent  at  the  Ar- 
gentine Club  he  did  not  make  his  usual  tour  of  inspection  on 
returning  home,  but  walked  straight  up-stairs  to  his  study. 
He  sat  down  by  his  desk,  and  for  some  time  seemed  lost  and 
preoccupied.  In  the  uncertain  light  that  filled  the  room,  his 
face  looked  worn  and  pale.  In  u  few  moments  he  started  up 
and  began  to  busy  himself  searching  through  the  papers  in  his 
desk.  As  he  did  not  seem  to  find  what  he  was  looking  for  he 
became  excited,  and  scattered  everything  right  and  left  that 
impeded  his  movements.  Impatience,  vexation,  and  even  fear 
were  depicted  on  his  face,  as  the  paper  he  searched  for  did  not 


THE  NAVOR'S  HOME.  41 

turn  up.  "I  was  sure  it  was  here,"  he  muttered,  as  he 
emptied  drawer  after  drawer  of  their  contents. 

Here  Marcia  found  him  at  dinner  time,  on  his  knees  before  a 
huge  pile  of  papers  which  he  was  examining  with  trembling 
fingers.  He  started  visibly  as  she  entered,  and  looked  at  her 
curiously  for  some  moments.  When  she  kissed  him,  his  lips 
were  cold  as  ice. 

"  Why,  papa,  what  is  the  matter  ? " 

"Nothing,  nothing  at  all,"  he  answered,  a  little  pettishly. 
"I  have  been  trying  to  find  a  plagued  receipt.  If  I  don't  find 
it,  I  may  have  to  pay  the  bill  over  again." 

"  Well,  at  least  wait  until  after  dinner,  papa,"  as  the  bell 
rang  in  the  lower  hall,  ' '  and  then  I  may  be  able  to  help  you 
find  it." 

"You  wouldn't  know  it  if  you  saw  it,"  he  said,  rustling 
among  his  papers.  "Well,  let  it  go  for  the  present,"  he  added, 
closing  the  desk  with  a  slam. 

"Marcia,"  he  asked,  as  they  went  down  the  stairs  together, 
"  did  you  ever  hear  me  mention  the  name  of  Brent  before?" 

"  I  cannot  remember." 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"Quite  sure." 

Mr.  Tillinghurst  sighed,  and  passed  one  hand  wearily  over 
his  forehead. 

' '  I  met  a  young  man  to-day  of  that  name,  and  somehow  I 
thought  I  had  met  him  long  ago." 

Marcia  noticed  that  he  looked  worried,  but  forbade  herself 
questioning  him.  It  was  not  the  first  time  she  had  seen  her 
father  in  a  dejected  mood.  As  he  grew  older  the  attacks  grew 
more  and  more  frequent,  and  he  often  spent  half  of  the  night 
walking  up  and  down  his  room.  It  worried  her  to  see  him  so 
depressed,  but  as  he  never  offered  her  his  confidence,  she  was 
too  proud  to  ask  him. 

They  sat  down  to  their  dinner  in  silence,  only  broken  when 
the  broker  asked  the  butler  to  fill  his  glass.  He  was  nervous 
and  dispirited,  and  Marcia  did  not  try  to  force  a  conversation. 
The  sombre  magnificence  of  the  room  only  added  to  the  gen- 
eral depression.  The  candelabras  on  the  great  table  by  which 
this  lonely-looking  couple  sat,  seemed  to  burn  with  bluish 
flames  that  threw  strange  shadows  on  the  embossed  walls. 


42  A  SLA  VE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

The  creaking  boots  of  the  two  waiters,  in  their  sombre  clothes, 
echoed  along  the  polished  floors,  and  seemed  to  rouse  other 
sounds  beneath  and  above.  The  logs  burning  in  the  great 
fire-place  gave  out  queer  hissing  sounds,  with  now  and  then  a 
snap  like  the  crack  of  a  whip. 

Marcia  shivered,  and  the  banker,  catching  sight  of  the  mel- 
ancholy butler,  wished  with  all  his  heart  that  he  was  back  eat- 
ing tripe  and  onions  in  the  back  kitchen  of  the  old  house  in 
University  Place.  They  were  both  glad  when  the  solitary 
meal  was  over,  and  they  could  get  away  to  the  parlor. 

"What  has  been  the  trouble  between  you  and  Captain 
Shrike?"  asked  Mr.  Tillinghurst,  as  he  sat  down  by  the  fire- 
place ;  "  I  met  him  to-day. " 

"No  trouble  at  all.  Why  do  you  ask?"  she  said,  spreading 
her  hands  out  over  the  flames,  though  the  room  was  like  a  hot- 
house. 

"Well,  I  kind  of  imagined  so  from  the  way  he  spoke.  He 
hasn't  been  here  for  two  months,  and  he  used  to  come  so  often." 

"Yes,  papa."  She  did  not  seem  to  be  listening  to  him,  as 
her  eyes  peered  into  the  flames  with  a  far-away  look. 

"  You  don't  like  Shrike,  now,  honestly,  do  you?" 

"No,  I  don't." 

"  And  why  not? "  a  little  querulously. 

"  I— I  don't  think  he  is  a  good  man,"  timidly. 

Her  father  laughed.  "  Why,  I  don't  know  that  he  is  any  the 
worse  for  running  around  with  the  boys  a  little.  Better  sow 
his  wild  oats  now,  than  wait  until  he's  married,  I  say.  They 
have  got  to  come  up  some  time,  Marsh." 

"Yes,  papa." 

"  I  wish  you  would  try  and  like  Captain  Shrike." 

"Yes,  papa." 

"He's  a  fine  fellow — good-looking,  good  family,  and  a  fort- 
une. I  know  you  will  like  him  in  time.  Don't  believe  all  the 
silly  stories  you  get  from  Fanny  Pixley.  He  has  been  a 
mighty  good  friend  to  me  in  days  gone  by,  and  I  don't  want  to 
appear  ungrateful  now  that  I  have  got  up  in  the  world." 

"  I'll  try  and  think  better  of  him  for  your  sake,  papa."  She 
looked  up  into  his  face  with  such  an  expression  of  love  that  he 
stooped  and  kissed  her  softly  on  the  forehead. 

"You  are  a  good  girl,  Marsh,"  a  little  huskily,  as  he  stroked 


TIIE  NABOB'S  HOME.  43 

her  hair.     "  I  only  wish  your  mother  could  have  lived  to  be  as 
proud  of  you  as  I  am." 

The  smoke  of  the  burning  logs  or  his  own  thoughts  caused 
him  to  rub  his  eyes  with  the  back  of  his  hand;  for  some 
moments  they  neither  of  them  said  a  word. 

"  How  are  your  theatricals  coming  on? "  he  asked  at  length. 
"  Seems  to  me  you  have  been  rehearsing  that  piece  as  long  as 
I  can  remember." 

"Why,  how  can  you  say  so?  It  has  only  been  about  three 
months." 

"  It  ought  to  be  good,  with  so  much  fixin'." 

"Why,  aren't  you  coming  to  see  it?  You  know  you  have 
bought  a  proscenium  box." 

' '  Did  I  indeed  ?  Well  then,  I  suppose  I  must  go.  It's  for 
charity,  and  ought  to  be  encouraged,  I  reckon,  though  I'm  not 
much  on  such  shows.  Don't  you  go  and  get  the  barn-storming 
fever  on  you,  now,  Marsh,  like  Mrs.  Tilbury  Trotter.  They  do 
say  that  when  a  girl  gets  the  stage  fever  on  her  that  it's  more 
deadly  than  the  Yellow  Jack,  and  strikes  in  deeper.  There's 
lots  of  girls  right  in  your  set  that  has  had  attacks  of  dramatic 
malaria.  You've  met  lots  of  'em,  I  dare  say.  They  go  round 
spouting  pieces  at  receptions  for  a  starter,  get  their  ideas  on 
dress  from  the  lithographs  in  bar-room  windows,  talk  slang, 
and  bleach  their  hair  lemon-color.  They  may  be  all  right,  but 
they  get  themselves  up  all  wrong,"  said  Mr.  Tillinghurst, 
stumbling  in  his  eloquence.  "  But  there!  I'm  talking  like  an 
old  fool.  As  if  you  wasn't  able  to  take  care  of  .yourself ! 
You've  done  so  all  your  life,  and  I  guess  can  for  the  rest  of  it 
without  much  of  my  interference.  I  want  to  like  everyone 
you  like,"  he  added,  laying  his  great  rough  palm  on  her  dress 
with  a  caressing  gesture,  moving  it  slowly  over  the  soft  sur- 
face. "  What  I  want  most  is  to  get  you  out  in  the  world  more, 
to  enjoy  this  money  that  I  get  so  little  fun  out  of  except  in  a 
business  way.  If  we  don't  pitch  some  of  it  away  it  will 
smother  us.  But  there !  "  his  face  clouding  over  suddenly,  "I 
came  near  forgetting  all  about  that  paper. " 

"  I  wish  I  could  make  you  forget  all  your  troubles  as  easily," 
she  said,  still  half  detaining  him  as  he  would  turn  away. 

' '  Troubles ! "  with  a  queer  laugh.  ' '  Bah !  I  haven't  got  any ; 
I  buried  'em  all  long  ago." 


44  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

"But  you  will  let  me  help  you  look  for  this  paper?"  she 
asked,  as  the  old  weary  look  passed  over  his  face.  "  You  have 
been  working  hard  all  day,  while  I  have  been  reading  novels. 
Do  let  me  help  you." 

"I  don't  believe  you  could,  Marsh.  You — you  see,  this  is 
something  in  cypher,  and  you  wouldn't  recognize  it  if  you  saw 
it,  I  don't  believe." 

"  A  receipt  in  cypher? "  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  hurriedly.     "Queer  idea,  wasn't  it?" 

Then,  turning  without  another  word,  he  went  up  the  stairs 
alone,  leaving  her  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  rug,  with 
clasped  hands  and  wondering  eyes.  "I  wish — I  wish,''  she 
said,  as  she  went  back  to  her  seat  by  the  fire,  ' '  he  would  tell 
me  his  troubles." 

She  picked  up  a  book,  but  could  not  read.  The  sound  of  his 
footsteps  died  away  in  the  direction  of  his  study. 

Before  his  desk  Mr.  Tillinghurst  sat,  his  face  bowed  in  his 
hands.  The  floor  was  strewn  with  papers,  and  some  elegant 
books  had  fallen  from  their  shelves  on  to  the  floor  during  the 
fever  of  the  search.  The  millionaire  was  reading  over  for  the 
twentieth  time  a  little  yellow-stained  piece  of  paper  that  bore 
some  faint  writing  in  a  strange  female  hand.  His  hands 
shook  as  he  folded  it  up  with  a  sigh  and  shut  it  up  in  his  safe, 
that  was  set  in  the  wall  on  the  right-hand  side  of  the  room. 
He  looked  pale  and  worn,  as  he  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  floor, 
with  the  strong  gas-light  on  his  face,  that  brought  out  every 
wrinkle  with  startling  distinctness. 

"  What  a  fool  I  am  to  be  sure!"  he  said,  with  a  strange 
laugh ;  ' '  why,  I  am  trembling  all  over  like  a  girl,  "  as  he 
noticed  his  unsteady  hands.  He  went  over  to  the  closet  and 
poured  himself  out  a  stiff  glass  of  brandy,  gulping  it  down  raw. 
The  color  returned  in  a  measure  to  his  face.  "  I  must  be  get- 
ting in  my  second  childhood  to  be  so  frightened.  That — that 
happened  too  long  ago — too  long  ago." 

He  turned  out  the  light  and  lumbered  up-stairs  to  bed,  for- 
getting to  say  good-night  to  Marcia, 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"NUMBER  66." 

CAPTAIN  SHRIKE,  when  he  introduced  John  Brent  into  the 
polite  world  of  New  York  fashion,  equipped  him  not  only  with 
money,  but  with  blood.  Backsheesh  may  be  the  open-sesame 
to  the  majority  of  the  social  portals  of  the  metropolis,  but 
there  is  a  certain  inner  holy  of  holies  where  you  cannot  gain 
admittance  without  exhibiting  your  family  tree  or  your  grand- 
mother, and  Shrike  knew  it.  The  fact  that  Brent  was  sup- 
posed to  have  come  from  the  West  was  against  him  from  the 
start.  The  majority  of  New  York  society  people  believe  that 
the  West  is  still  in  a  hopeless  state  of  barbarism,  rampant  with 
red  shirts  and  bad  grammar,  and  sorely  in  need  of  an  aesthetic 
missionary  to  labor  in  its  midst.  The  captain  therefore  gave 
out  that  his  protege  was  of  noble  English  family,  and  that  his 
father  had  come  to  America  to  repair  the  fortunes  of  the 
house,  dissipated  by  a  younger  brother.  He  even  went  so  far 
as  to  show  his  intimates  a  photograph  of  a  moated  grange, 
very  ivy-grown  and  Tudoresque,  which  was  supposed  to  be 
Brent's  ancestral  home,  now  in  the  hands  of  another. 

This  pleasant  fiction  set  people  talking,  and  Brent  soon  found 
himself  a  very  much  sought-after  young  man,  and  in  danger 
of  being  spoilt  by  too  much  adulation.  To  start  with,  he  was 
good-looking,  modest,  and  supposed  to  be  rich ;  small  wonder 
was  it  that  he  soon  found  few  gates  closed  to  him.  Even  the 
Van  Bleeker  Schermerhorns,whqhad  a  horror  of  the  nouveaux 
riches,  and  who  had  been  known  to  have  an  editor  horse- 
whipped for  mentioning  their  illustrious  names  in  his  society 
columns,  opened  their  aristocratic  though  dirty  gates.  True , 
it  was  that  Miss  Eudora  Schermerhorn  was  saying  good-bye  to 
her  twenties,  and  that  the  family  patrimony  had  been  reduced 
to  a  beggarly  pittance;  but  anything  approaching  a  money 
marriage  in  the  Van  Bleeker  Schermerhorn's  ranks  had  not 
been  known  since  the  days  of  their  illustrious  ancestor,  old 

45 


46  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

Wouter  Van  Twiller.  To  them,  blood  was  everything;  but, 
of  course,  if  a  young  man  had  both — ! 

Did  Brent  feel  the  stings  of  conscience  while  he  was  thus 
being  courted.  If  he  had  any  attacks  of  remorse  they  did  not 
keep  him  awake  nights  or  interfere  with  his  digestion.  There 
were  times,  especially  when  he  had  nothing  to  do,  when  he  felt 
rather  ashamed  of  himself ;  but  then  some  new  pleasure  would 
come  up  and  crowd  out  all  memories  but  those  of  the  present. 

By  a  beneficent  arrangement,  the  man  or  Avoman  in  fashion- 
able life  has  little  time  for  introspective  views.  A  constant 
succession  of  duties  and  pleasures  leaves  them  very  little  alone 
with  themselves.  Philosophers  are  unkind  enough  to  say  that 
members  of  the  elegant  world  are  people  of  such  meagre  minds 
that  they  rush  together  because  they  dread  being  left  alone 
with  their  own  barren  intellects.  It  might  be  more  kind  to 
say  that  society  is  composed  of  people  who  have  something  to 
forget  or  nothing  to  remember.  At  least,  it  is  easy  for  the 
man  of  fashion,  or  woman  either,  to  escape  the  pillory  of  their 
own  consciences  by  keeping  always  in  the  rush  of  the  current. 

John  Brent  should  not  be  blamed  because  he  could  look,  with 
equanimity  at  least,  on  a  life  of  imposition.  So  far,  he  was 
only  having  a  good  time  on  the  money  supplied  by  the  Impe- 
cunious Club ;  the  worst  part  of  the  bargain  was  yet  to  come, 
when  he  must  pay  for  the  luxuries  he  now  enjoj'ed.  In  the 
meantime  he  was  content  to  drift  idly  with  the  tide,  enjoying 
all  the  pleasures  that  fortune  put  in  his  reach.  Whenever  he 
found  himself  in  an  introspective  mood — and  he  tried  never  to 
let  his  conscience  take  the  floor — he  would  walk  down  to  Mad- 
ison Square  and  take  a  look  at  the  bench  where  he  had  lain  on 
the  night  that  Shrike  took  him  in.  It  always  sent  him  home 
again  whistling,  and  quite  satisfied  with  his  condition. 

Captain  Shrike's  operations  in  his  name  on  the  Street  had 
been  very  successful,  and  a  few  daring  plunges  got  his  name 
into  the  papers  and  added  to  his  reputation  socially  and  in  a 
business  way.  He  came  to  be  regarded  as  a  young  financier 
of  great  promise,  and  Mr.  Tillinghurst,  who  always  worshipped 
successful  people,  took  a  great  fancy  to  him. 

"When  I  was  his  age,"  the  broker  said,  in  confidence,  to  old 
Van  Bleeker  Schermerhorn,  who  hated  him,  as  he  knew,  with 
the  true  hate  of  a  patrician  for  a  parvenu— "  When  I  was  that 


"NUMBER  66."  47 

young  man's  age,  I  was  peddling  things  from  door  to  door, 
and  living  on  cheese-parings.  They  seem  to  be  able  to  make 
money  quicker  in  these  times  than  when  I  was  a  young  man. " 

And  then  he  would  launch  out  in  a  flood  of  reminiscences, 
while  Van  Bleeker  would  resort  to  his  smelling-salts,  as  if  the 
garrulous  old  man's  conversation  even  smelt  of  the  perspira- 
tion of  trade. 

John  Brent's  meeting  with  Marcia  Tillinghurst  was  under  no 
startling  circumstances,  and  amid  very  ordinary  surroundings. 
In  fact,  he  had  dreaded  meeting  her,  and  chance  had  favored 
him  for  a  long  time ;  but  Shrike,  who  had  an  eye  for  business, 
arranged  that  they  should  meet  at  the  ball  given  by  the  Am- 
sterdam Club  at  Delmonico's. 

"  I  don't  want  to  give  you  a  chance  to  fall  in  love  with  any- 
one else,"  he  said,  with  a  meaning  smile,  as  he  handed  him 
the  ticket. 

Somehow,  it  took  Brent  a  very  long  time  to  get  ready  that 
evening;  and  twice  he  came  near  cutting  himself  with  the 
razor,  his  hand  trembled  so. 

Had  he  been  asked  he  would  have  had  difficulty  in  explain- 
ing his  emotions  at  that  time,  but  he  certainly  felt  strangely 
unnerved,  or,  as  Captain  Shrike  would  say  in  club  parlance, 
"rocky." 

He  drove  down  to  the  ball,  forgetting  that  he  had  promised 
to  call  for  Freddy  Pixley  on  the  way.  He  felt  a  desire  to  ask 
the  driver  to  return,  but  he  did  not  dare  to  thwart  Shrike. 
He  tried  to  argue  with  himself  that  it  was  childish  to  be  afraid 
of  a  woman  whom  he  had  never  met.  If  he  had  been  going  to 
meet  her  as  an  honest  man  he  would  have  felt  differently ;  for 
the  mournful  eyes  he  had  seen  in  the  square  that  night  still 
haunted  him.  He  lit  a  cigarette  to  soothe  his  nerves ;  he  knew 
he  must  put  on  a  bold  front  for  the  encounter. 

There  was  only  one  light  in  the  Tillinghurst  mansion  as  he 
rolled  by  it.  He  imagined  as  he  lay  there  on  the  soft  cushions 
that  he  could  see  Marcia  standing  before  her  mirror  preparing 
for  the  ball.  "Poor  girl!"  he  said  to  himself,  as  the  picture 
rose  before  his  view;  "  you  little  know  the  conspiracy  that  is 
on  foot  to  dispose  of  you." 

The  sight  of  the  millionaire's  palace  looming  up  in  the  night 
brought  other  pleasant  fancies  to  a  man  of  his  strong  imagina- 


48  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

tion.  He  could  see  a  carpet  of  scarlet  velvet  reaching  from 
the  grand  entrance  to  the  curb-stone,  where  a  carriage  waited 
with  impatient  horses.  And  down  the  soft  scarlet  expanse 
came  tripping  a  lithe,  graceful  young  woman,  in  a  smart  trav- 
elling suit,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  a  noble-looking  young  man, 
while  behind  the  couple  rose  a  fashionable  group  of  people 
who  harried  them  with  rice  and  old  slippers.  And  there  stood 
Papa  Tillinghurst  at  the  door  of  the  carriage,  with  tears  in  his 
eyes,  and  a  check  for  a  handsome  sum  in  his  hand,  which  he 
pressed  upon  the  reluctant  bridegroom,  and — and — 

But  the  carriage  rolled  up  to  Delmonico's,  and  his  dreams 
were  broken  by  the  profanity  of  the  coachmen  who  blocked  up 
the  street.  There  were  about  two  hundred  people  present 
when  Brent  entered  the  ball-room.  The  Amsterdam  Club 
prided  themselves  on  giving  only  the  most  select  entertain- 
ments, and  there  was  always  an  overhauling  of  family  his- 
tories and  the  Americana-Heraldica  when  the  tickets  were 
given  out. 

Fanny  Pixley  had  taken  up  her  stand  in  the  centre  of  the 
room,  and  was  enjoying  the  homage  of  half-a-dozen  lanky 
young  men  with  piping  voices,  who  chattered  like  apes.  Her 
face,  which  was  as  delicately  colored  as  a  sevres  ornament, 
would  have  delighted  Watteau,  and  inspired  a  poem  in  Beau- 
delaire.  An  overweening  confidence  in  the  effect  of  her  own 
charms,  however,  robbed  her  features  of  half  their  beauty. 
Her  face  was  generally  revolving  like  a  pin- wheel  in  her  efforts 
to  distribute  her  smiles  and  melting  glances  over  a  large  ex- 
panse of  high-collared  young  men.  Admirers  she  had  by  the 
score ;  they  were  ticketed  off  in  her  ivory  address-book  under 
different  headings — those  who  took  her  to  lunch,  and  those 
who  might  be  depended  on  for  the  opera  and  theatre.  Fragile 
and  delicate-looking,  she  went  through  the  season  in  a  mad 
gallop  without  any  respite.  She  never  wanted  to  rest.  A 
quiet  life  would  have  probably  worn  her  out  much  sooner  than 
the  noisy  excitement  in  which  she  moved.  The  crash  of  music, 
the  chatter  of  the  dinner-table,  the  mysteries  of  the  toilet,  all 
acted  as  a  tonic  on  this  social  cyclone. 

Her  dresses  were  miracles,  and  yet  they  had  never  been 
through  the  custom-house.  An  Irish  modiste,  with  a  French 
name,  made  her  toilets;  but  who  this  incomparable  dress 


"NUMBER  66."  49 

maker  was,  not  even  her  most  intimate  friends  could  tell. 
Her  dress  to-night  was  of  exceptional  elegance.  A  skirt  of 
heliotrope  silk,  covered  with  festoons  of  Valenciennes  lace, 
was  surmounted  by  a  boddice  of  saffron  moire,  with  large  but- 
tons of  sevres  ware,  while  a  jabot  of  rare  old  lace  fell  in  a  cas- 
cade from  throat  to  waist.  The  costume  would  have  been  try- 
ing to  anyone  but  a  girl  of  her  shell-like  complexion  and 
dainty  coloring. 

' '  Now,  don't  begin  by  saying  something  complimentary 
about  my  dress,"  she  said,  as  Brent  approached.  "Do  you 
know,  1  have  heard  nothing  else  all  the  evening.  Just  as  if 
I  had  made  it,  and  only  wore  it,  like  a  dressmaker,  for  an 
advertisement ! "  with  a  pout. 

' '  I  wasn't  going  to  say  a  word  about  your  toilet,  I  assure 
you.  Now  you  mention  the  fact,  however,  I  can't  help  saying 
that  it  is  rather  pretty.  I  was  going  to  speak  to  you  about 
the  theatricals  on  Wednesday." 

"  You  were  there? " 

"  Yes,  I  led  the  clacque.  Your  death-scene  was  intensely 
realistic;  in  fact,  horrible." 

"I  should  think  so,"  said  Fanny,  with  a  shudder.  "You 
know,  the  property-man  made  a  mistake,  and  put  a  bottle  of 
red  ink  on  the  table  instead  of  a  vial  of  poison." 

"And  you  took  it." 

"  I  had  to;  every  "one  was  looking  at  me.  I  ought  to  have 
been  realistic,  for  I  went  through  all  the  agonies  of  death  while 
disposing  of  that  ink." 

They  chattered  on  for  some  moments,  until  a  waltz  began, 
and  her  partner  came  to  claim  her.  Brent  had  been  to  Brook- 
lyn that  day,  and  was  in  no  mood  to  dance.  He  strolled  over 
to  the  corner  where  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  Mrs.  Wilton.  She 
was  talking  to  General  Horatio  Seaton,  a  little  man  with  gray 
imperials  and  a  ruddy  complexion.  He  had  never  forgiven  the 
North  its  share  in  the  war,  and  was  a  perfect  gatling-gun  of 
military  reminiscences. 

Mrs.  Wilton,  in  a  marvellous  costume  of  pomegranate  satin, 
covered  with  black  lace,  looked  like  anything  but  the  occu- 
pant of  a  Broadway  garret.     The  brilliant  Parisian  diamonds 
sparkled  brightly  at  her  white  throat:  they  were  a  present 
4 


50  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

from  the  Duke  Alexis,  she  said,  and  no  one  dared  dispute  the 
assertion. 

"Ah  was  just  sayin'  to  the  general,"  she  remarked,  with  a 
strong  Southern  accent,  "that  ah  wundahed  why  sasahty 
people,  who  have  so  much  time  on  their  hands,  never  exercise 
any  ingenuity  in  gettin'  up  entertainments.  Yeh's  New  York, 
supposed  to  be  the  greatest  city  in  the  country,  and  the  social 
programme  consists  of  a  ball  one  day,  a  musicale  the  next, 
and  a  dinnah-pahty  the  next,  an'  so  on  with  few  variations." 

"  And  would  you  like  to  revive  the  social  amusements  of  the 
middle  ages? "  asked  Brent.  ' '  Under  such  conditions,  General, 
you  military  men  would  get  the  best  of  us  poor  civilians,  I  am 
afraid.  Imagine,  if  you  can,  a  couple  of  those  slender  youths 
who  are  hovering  about  Fanny  Pixley,  in  a  tourney,  running 
full  tilt  at  each  other,  trying  to  break  each  other's  heads." 

"It  would  at  least  be  a  manly  pastime,"  said  the  general, 
sniffing  the  air  as  if  he  detected  the  smell  of  the  supper,  "and 
it  would  keep  up  a  warlike  spirit  that  is  dying  out  except  in 
the  South." 

"  No,  ah  don't  knaw  aboot  the  tourneys,"  said  Mrs.  Wilton, 
"  for  then  all  the  matrimonial  prizes  would  be  won  by  brawn 
and  not  brains.  But  we  are  at  the  other  extreme.  There's 
nothing  romantic  about  sasahty  nowadays." 

"I  am  afraid  you  will  search  in  vain  for  poetry  in  New 
York  life.  For  my  part  I  don't  hunger  for  the  romantic ;  I 
have  had  enough  pastoral  pleasure  in  my  boyhood  to  last  me 
all  my  life." 

"Oh,  I  dare  say  I  should  tire  of  paradise  itself,  for  that 
matter,"  yawning  behind  her  fan. 

"  I  confess  that  New  York  has  still  some  charms  for  me," 
said  Brent.  "  So  far  I  have  not  had  a  chance  to  tire  of  its 
many  seductions.  How  about  you,  General? " 

' '  Oh,  I  am  not  hard  to  suit ;  a  soldier  is  easy  to  satisfy. 
Enough  to  eat,  enough  to  drink — that  is  all. " 

"  He  is  engaged  just  now  on  a  work  on  the  Civil  Wah,"  put 
in  Mrs.  Wilton — "a  very  remarkable  book,  too,  from  the 
glance  I  had  at  the  manuscript." 

The  little  general  bowed  his  head  very  meekly.  "  At  least  I 
shall  tell  the  true  story  of  Bull's  Run,"  he  murmured. 

Brent  groaned  inwardly,  but  said  nothing. 


"NUMBER  66."  51 

"There  goes  Mrs.  Prentice  Follansbee,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Wilton,  as  a  lady  in  pearl-colored  satin  swept  by  in  the  waltz 
with  a  whir  of  starched  draperies.  "Ah  don't  see  how  she 
gains  admittance  in  a  place  like  this.  They  know  well  enough 
she  will  turn  round  and  describe  the  whole  of  it  in  detail  in 
some  horrid  society  paper  she  writes  for.  Ah  understand  she  is 
about  to  publish  a  book  on  New  Yoke  high  life,  giving  every- 
body fits." 

' '  Novel- writing  seems  to  be  quite  an  epidemic  in  society  now. 
There's  Mrs.  Fawnley,  the  tobacco-dealer's  wife,  who  blooms  in 
print  every  two  or  three  years,  not  to  mention  Frank  Castor, 
with  his  historic  drivel. " 

The  orchestra  struck  up  a  waltz,  and  Brent  was  soon  floating 
around  the  room  with  the  fair  widow  in  his  arms ;  while  the 
general,  who  did  not  dance,  and  did  not  want  anyone  else  to, 
whom  he  was  with,  looked  on  and  scowled. 

"  What  do  you  want  to  waltz  with  that  woman  for? "  asked 
Captain  Shrike,  who  met  Brent  a  few  minutes  afterwards, 
flushed  and  heated.  "  She  will  never  do  you  a  bit  of  good, 
and  has  a  devil  of  a  tongue." 

"  We  are  probably  drawn  together  by  the  ties  of  companion- 
ship, I  imagine,"  said  Brent,  with  a  grimace,  as  he  wiped  his 
heated  face.  "  We  are  both  of  us  frauds,  and  ought  therefore 
to  be  chummy." 

Shrike  smiled  grimly.  "  Well,  you've  got  lots  of  company 
here  to-night,"  as  his  eyes  roamed  around  the  room.  "We 
needn't  blush  with  the  best  of  'em.  Look  at  the  Van  Bleeker 
Schermerhorns.  Never  tired  of  talking  about  their  descent 
and  old  Wouter  Van  Twiller.  Always  bragging  about  their 
blood,  and  at  the  same  time  satisfied  to  live  on  the  charity  of 
their  relations,  because  they  believe  trade  is  degrading.  There 
is  a  whole  family  of  frauds  for  you.  Then  we  have  Mrs.  Ken- 
drick  Hewson  and  her  daughter.  Look  at  the  diamonds! 
There  are  enough  to  fill  a  pint  measure.  Their  place  on  Madi- 
son Avenue  near  Thirty-fourth  Street  is  a  perfect  treasure- 
house.  The  dress  Miss  Hewson  is  wearing  cost  a  cool  thou- 
sand, if  it  cost  a  penny.  Where  do  all  the  dollars  come  from? 
Hewson  gets  a  salary  of  five  thousand  a  year,  and  spends  ten 
on  himself.  Who  is  the  family  banker?  That  tall,  lazy -look- 
ing man  in  the  doorway,  twisting  his  blonde  moustache,  could 


52  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

answer  if  he  wanted  to.  He  gave  the  mission  fund  a  thousand 
this  year,  and  was  talked  about  in  all  the  papers.  He  is  the 
skeleton  in  the  Hewson  closet — a  skeleton  with  a  material 
pocket-book.  Here  we  have  old  Jeff  Thompson,  of  the  Concen- 
trated Insurance  Company;  lovely -looking  old  man,  is  he  not? 
Note  his  mild  blue  eyes  and  snowy  hair,  and  the  benignant 
smile  that  plays  about  his  pink  face.  He  is  principally  cele- 
brated for  being  in  love  with  his  wife.  Society  cannot  under- 
stand how  two  old  people  who  are  married  can  be  fond  of  each 
other,  so  they  regard  this  couple  with  awe  and  attention.  I 
have  no  doubt  he  does  love  his  wife,  but  unfortunately,  he  is 
unable  to  concentrate  his  affections  in  any  one  place,  and — 
but  I'll  tell  you  the  story  some  day  of  this  genial  old  mino- 
taur,'  stopping  short  in  the  midst  of  his  eloquence.  "  Ah,  my 
boy.  take  courage!  In  figurative  language,  you  are  a  good 
egg  among  a  lot  of  bad  ones.  Sail  in  without  any  cou.puiic- 
tions ;  be  a  humbug  among  humbugs,  and  they  will  all  have  a 
better  opinion  of  you." 

The  babble  of  many  voices  reached  them  as  they  stood  there. 
The  swishing  of  starched  skirts  and  the  shuffling  of  many 
feet  were  like  the  droning  of  innumerable  bees.  The  perfume 
from  the  banks  of  roses  that  filled  the  four  corners  of  the 
room,  and  from  the  superb  flowers  that  were  worn  by  the 
dancers,  rose  in  the  air  like  incense  that  was  almost  stifling. 
The  two  men  moved  over  to  the  only  open  window,  eager  for 
a  breath  of  fresh  air.  Bits  of  conversation  were  borne  to  them 
as  the  kaleidoscopic  crowd  shifted  to  and  fro,  and  the  volup- 
tuous music  rose  and  fell.  Some  of  the  scraps  of  chattel- 
caused  them  to  smile. 

"  Is  that  Jen  Atherson  ?  " 

"Yes.  She  has  had  her  dresses  cut  an  inch  lower  in  the 
neck  this  year.  I  suppose  that's  for  the  colonel's  benefit. 
Look  at  the  salt-cellars  !  Anybody  would  know  she  was  forty 
by  her  neck." 

' '  Your  friend  Annie  seems  to  be  starring  it  to-night,  in  that 
violet  satin  and  point  lace." 

"Rather  a  nice  dress  to  hire  from  a  Fourth- A  venue  cos- 
tumer." 

"  How  did  you  come  to  know  she  got  it  there  ? " 


"NUMJiERM,"  53 

"I— I  was  there  looking  for  some  private  theatrical  cos- 
tumes." 

"Oh!" 

Two  club  men.  ' '  Frankie  Caldecott  looks  younger  than  ever 
to-night.  Gad !  she  used  to  be  an  old  flame  of  the  governor's." 

"  She'll  ring  you  in  next,  old  chap,  if  you  don't  look  out. 
She's  warranted  never  to  fade,  and  fast  colors.  What  do  you 
suppose  she  is  up  to  now  ? " 

"  Going  on  the  stage  ?  " 

"  No,  she  is  writing  her  autobiography." 

"  Impossible!    Why,  it  would  be  suppressed." 

Brent  was  amusing  himself  listening  to  the  scraps  of  conver- 
sation, when  Captain  Shrike  touched  him  on  the  arm. 
"Look!"  he  said,  nodding  in  the  direction  of  the  doorway. 
"  Behold,  your  fate  awaits  you!  " 

Mr.  Tillinghurst  had  just  entered  the  ball-room  with  his 
daughter.  Brent  hardly  dared  to  look  at  her  at  first;  he  felt 
ashamed  of  his  position.  She  only  glanced  carelessly  about 
the  room,  but  he  was  sure  she  was  looking  indignantly  at  him. 
He  was  aware  of  mumbling  some  commonplace  remarks  as 
Shrike  introduced  him,  and  then  they  wTere  left  alone  together 
in  one  corner,  while  the  captain  discreetly  retired  to  where 
he  could  watch  his  charge. 

At  the  first  sound  of  her  voice  Brent  felt  reassured,  and 
some  of  his  old  confidence  returned  to  him.  It  soothed  him 
like  a  pleasant  melody,  a  forgotten  song  that  is  recalled.  He 
felt  that  she  was  studying  him  from  head  to  foot,  and  weigh- 
ing him  well.  He  was  embarrassed  in  the  presence  of  this 
gentle,  soft-eyed  girl,  who  was  so  different  from  the  chattering 
magpies  he  had  been  accustomed  to  meet  in  the  polite  world. 

Her  costume  was  in  keeping  with  her  modest  appearance 
and  calm  repose.  It  was  a  blue-black  velvet,  made  severely 
plain,  and  piped  at  the  edges  and  seams  with  wThite  satin ;  her 
only  jewels  were  a  string  of  pear-shaped  pearls  that  clasped 
tightly  her  white  throat.  The  excitement  of  the  occasion  had 
brought  a  delicate  flush  to  her  otherwise  pale  cheek,  and  her 
sorrowful-looking  eyes  sparkled  with  shifting  lights. 

Brent,  as  his  confidence  became  reassured,  could  not  take 
his  glance  away  from  her  face. 


54  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

"You  don't  go  out  into  society  much,  Miss  Tillinghurst  ?  " 
he  said,  after  an  awkward  silence. 

"  Not  as  much  as  papa  would  have  me,"  was  the  reply.  "  I 
am  afraid  he  has  begun  to  regard  me  as  a  very  incomprehen- 
sible person.  I  am  more  unsophisticated  in  regard  to  social 
matters  than  blase.  It  simply  doesn't  interest  me  to  go  to 
receptions  and  parties." 

"For  my  part,"  said  Brent,  "I  need  an  atmosphere  of 
society  in  order  to  be  happy.  I  need  the  friction  of  crowds. 
While  I  see  more  in  the  swim  to  condemn  than  to  praise,  the 
study  of  these  shams  is  none  the  less  interesting.  My  position 
in  the  social  world  is  one  of  genial  pessimism.  Why,  I  have 
picked  up  any  number  of  scraps  regarding  human  nature  here 
to-night  that  have  amused  me  vastly." 

' '  I  am  afraid,  Mr.  Brent,  that  you  are  a  dangerous  char- 
acter, if  you  go  about  taking  these  mental  photographs.  It 
doesn't  do  to  go  to  the  root  of  these  social  questions.  You 
must  be  a  little  near-sighted  when  you  go  around  the  ring. 
The  use  of  a  microscope  will  not  strengthen  your  faith  in  your 
fellow-men,  or  in  women  either." 

"  I  confess  I  have  a  prying  mind,"  said  Brent,  with  a  smile. 
"  Until  the  past  few  months  I  have  seen  very  little  of  the  world, 
or  of  society  either,  and  I  am  still  intoxicated  with  its  pleas- 
ures. I  suppose  the  fever  attacks  every  man  sometime  in  his 
life,  like  composing  verses  or  the  measles." 

"I  don't  believe  your  case  is  hopeless,"  returned  Miss 
Tillinghurst ;  ' '  but  I  trust  you  will  not  become  a  social  hedge- 
hog, as  I  am  now  regarded,"  with  a  laugh. 

It  seemed  strange,  but  he  found  nothing  to  say  to  her. 

"Would  you  like  to  waltz  down  to  the  other  end  of  the 
room  ?  "  he  asked,  as  the  music  started  in  one  of  Waldteufel's 
dreamy  melodies.  "I  think  Fanny  Pixley  is  motioning  to 
you." 

The  waves  of  the  waltz  caught  them  up  and  bore  them  out 
into  the  silken,  billowy  sea,  islanded  with  black.  The  lights 
quivered  with  the  rushing  feet,  and  the  air  was  drowsy  with 
the  perfume  that  hung  like  a  mist  over  the  wavering  heads. 
Brent  was  conscious  of  nothing  tangible  but  the  soft  form  in 
his  arms,  and  the  loosened  lock  of  hair  that  burst  from  its 
fillet  and  swept  his  cheek. 


"  NUMBER  66."  55 

The  delight  of  that  dance  lasted  but  a  moment.  He  caught 
sight  of  Captain  Shrike's  grinning  face  in  the  crowd.  The 
enchanted  sea  was  once  more  a  crowd  of  painted  women  and 
perspiring  men. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
"THE  GAME'S  AFOOT.'' 

"  HERE'S  an  account  of  the  racket  last  night,  if  you  care  to 
read  it,"  said  Captain  Shrike,  tossing  a  newspaper  across  the 
table  where  they  dawdled  over  a  late  breakfast.  "I  see  they 
have  you  in  as  large  as  life,  and  next  to  Miss  Tillmghurst 
too." 

"I  never  read  the  society  columns  on  principle,"  returned 
Brent,  ' '  unless  it  is  in  an  English  paper.  In  this  country  the 
department  seems  to  be  generally  given  over  to  imbecile,  para- 
graphers,  and  is  about  on  an  intellectual  par  with  the  adver- 
tisements." 

"  At  the  same  time  we  cannot  afford  to  despise  them,"  was 
the  response.  "  There  is  nothing  like  the  newspaper  to  make 
a  thing  go,  from  a  medicine  sham  to  a  social  sham.  We  can 
abuse  journalists  as  much  as  we  please  in  private,  but  it  is  sad 
but  true  that  they  have  it  in  their  power  to  make  or  mar  a 
man ;  and  it's  a  good  deal  worse  for  a  woman.  Look  at  your 
friend  Mrs.  Boodleton !  She  is  diplomatic  enough  to  be  for- 
ever asking  Jim  Walker  of  the  Telephone  to  dinner.  Person- 
ally she  does  not  care  a  cent  for  him ;  yet  witness  the  results. 
Suppose  we  say  that  having  him  to  dinner  costs  three  dollars, 
which  it  don't.  Well,  after  being  primed  to  a  proper  pitch 
with  her  wines  and  stuff,  he  goes  off  and  writes  about  half  a 
column  describing  the  magnificent  receptions  they  give  (in  the 
boarding-house  parlor),  and  dilates  upon  the  family  diamonds 
and  Dora  Boodleton's  jewels.  Why,  me  boy,  it  is  a  splendid 
advertisement ;  splendid !  You  must  keep  in  with  the  society 
reporters,  if  you  want  to  succeed  in  society.  They  are  the 
Midas-power  of  the  press;  tread  lightly  on  their  corns.  A  few 
strokes  of  the  pen,  and  they  have  transformed  a  dingy  flat 
into  a  palace,  a  shabby  back -parlor  into  a  stately  drawing- 
room,  a  cabbage-garden  into  a  conservatory,  a  sandwich- 

56 


"  THE  GAME'S  AFOOT:''  57 

lunch  into  a  collation  worthy  of  Lucullus.  Therefore  I  say, 
Heaven  bless  'em ! " 

Brent  did  not  seem  to  be  listening ;  he  was  eyeing  the  table- 
cloth in  his  peculiar  moody  fashion. 

' '  Do  you  notice  how  much  space  is  devoted  to  describing 
Mrs.  Wilton's  costume?"  asked  Shrike,  who  had  resumed  his 
paper.  "You  can  remember  yourself  that  it  was  nothing 
remarkable  at  all,  yet  here  I  find  it  described  down  to  the 
minutest  trifle,  even  to  the  beads  on  her  slippers.  Clever 
woman!  I  can  see  by  this  that  somebody's  palm  has  been 
crossed.  Now,  she  will  buy  five  hundred  copies  of  the  paper, 
and  ship  them  around  to  her  friends,  especially  marked. 
Result,  she  will  be  asked  to  spend  a  few  weeks  at  some  one's 
country-house  next  summer,  and  once  within  the  walls  she  is 
good  for  the  entire  season.  I  must  begin  to  work  the  press  in 
your  interest,  me  boy." 

Brent's  only  answer  was  to  go  over  to  the  window,  where 
he  stood  for  some  moments  looking  out  on  the  street. 
"I  wish,"  he  said  finally,  "that  you  would  not  be  forever 
reminding  me  of  my  position." 

"Oh,  indeed !"  was  the  mocking  reply;  "you  don't  like  to 
be  worried  in  this  affair  at  all.  I  have  all  the  trouble  of 
engineering  it  through,  while  you  sport  around,  and  then  get 
in  a  bad  humor  if  I  remind  you  of  your  obligations.  Some- 
times I  feel  like  throwing  up  the  whole  affair." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  you  find  me  very  poor  material  for  your 
purpose,"  was  Brent's  reply.  "  Have  patience  with  me,  and  I 
dare  say  I  shall  become  in  time  a  villain  after  your  own 
heart, "  bitterly. 

"  Come,  come,  that's  no  way  to  talk;  be  a  man." 

"  There's  the  rub,"  was  the  ungracious  reply;  "I  can't  be  a 
man  and  do  as  I  am  doing." 

' '  You  had  better  trundle  some  of  your  convictions  down  to 
the  docks  and  dump  them  overboard ;  they  are  too  heavy  for 
you  to  carry  under  the  circumstances." 

"I  wish  I  could." 

' '  You  don't  want  to  go  back  to  your  old  life  again.  Why, 
man,  you  fancy  this  girl  already.  I  read  it  in  your  eyes  last 
night.  If  you  give  up  the  fight,  you  must  give  up  her  too." 

Brent  started.     "Let  us  not  talk  of  her,"  he  said,  huskily, 


58  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

"As  you  say,  I  could  not  go  back  to  the  old  life  again — never! 
It  is  too  late  to  turn  back."  He  poured  himself  out  a  glass  of 
brandy  at  the  side-board  and  gulped  it  down  greedily.  "  You 
have  had  my  promise,  and  I  will  stick  by  it.  Sink  or  swim, 
we  will  stand  together  in  this  matter." 

"Well  said,  me  boy,  and  in  after-years  you  will  thank  your 
uncle  for  putting  you  up  to  such  a  good  thing.  Everything  is 
working  beautifully,*'  rubbing  his  hands  together  slowly; 
"  everything  points  to  success." 

"  I  will  tell  you  one  thing,  Shrike,"  Brent  said,  after  some 
moment's  silence ;  "  I  am  getting  tired  of  doing  nothing.  It 
gives  me  too  much  time  to  think.  I  used  to  lend  a  busy  life 
before  I  met  you," — his  face  flushing  slightly  at  the  recollec- 
tion,— "  and  I'm  tired  of  being  an  idler.  Get  me  something  to 
do.  I'm  naturally  lazy,  but  if  I  had  regular  hours  I  should  be 
much  happier,  I  am  sure." 

"It  ought  to  be  easy  enough  to  find  a  berth  for  a  man  in 
your  position,"  said  the  captain,  meditatively.  "If  a  rumor 
got  around  that  you  had  lost  all  your  money  it  would  be  dif- 
ferent. Thanks  to  me,  you  have  considerable  reputation  as  a 
financier.  How  would  you  fancy  a  broker's  ? " 

"  I'm  afraid  I  should  ruin  the  concern  in  a  week.  I  should 
much  rather  get  into  some  business  where  I  should  have  no 
chance  of  tangling  things  up  so  that  the  firm  could  never  un- 
snarl themselves." 

"  You  want,  in  short,  what  is  known  in  vulgar  parlance  as  a 
soft  snap.  Short  hours,  little  work,  and  much  importance. 
For  you,  such  a  position  should  be  easy  to  find.  You  brace 
your  friends,  and  I  will  mine,  and  between  us  both  it  will  be 
strange  if  you  don't  find  a  safe  and  lucrative  lodgment." 

"  The  sooner  the  better,"  was  Brent's  reply.  "Fashionable 
loafing  seems  to  be  about  as  dull  as  the  more  vulgar  variety. 
Where  are  you  going  this  morning  ? " 

" I  have  to  meet  a  friend  at  the  Grand  Central  at  eleven," 
looking  at  his  watch,  "  but  I  shall  lunch  at  Torretti's  about  two, 
If  you  happen  to  be  around  the  neighborhood,  drop  in.  And 
by  the  way,  I  was  going  to  forget  something  of  importance.  I 
want  you  to  invest  $10,000  with  John  Tillinghurst. " 

"What,  I?" 

you-,  it  will  inspire  confidence,  and  I  have  my  reasons," 


"  THE  GAME'S  AFOOT."  59 

"But  there  is  only  about  $200  in  the  bank  to  my  account." 

"There  will  be  much  more;  in  fact,  all  you  need.  The 
cashier,  you  will  recollect,  is  a  member  of  the  club." 

"And  what  if  this  money  is  lost  ?  You  know  I  am  a  perfect 
child  about  money  matters." 

' '  Have  no  concern  on  that  score ;  it  will  not  be  lost.  The  old 
fox  will  return  you  a  large  percentage  in  order  to  inspire  you 
with  confidence  to  get  you  to  invest  more.  It  is  like  most 
other  forms  of  gambling ;  you  will  be  allowed  to  win  heavily  at 
first,  that  you  may  be  secured  more  easily  in  the  end." 

"  But  the  labor  market  is  in  such  a  troubled  condition  that 
no  man's  money  is  safe." 

"Oh,  that  will  all  blow  over;  don't  be  alarmed.  Working- 
men  tire  of  strikes  as  soon  as  they  find  out  how  unprofitable 
they  are  to  all  concerned." 

"  I  confess  my  sympathies  are  with  the  poor  devils,  though  at 
present  I  am  a  member  of  the  bloated  aristocracy,"  said  Brent. 

"Socialistic,  eh  ?  "  with  a  laugh.  "I  am  afraid  you  are  too 
stylish  and  too  fond  of  dress  to  pose  as  a  labor  reformer,"  as 
they  parted  at  the  door. 

Shrike  watched  him  get  into  the  carriage,  and  then  turned 
away,  shaking  his  head.  "There's  some  noble  clay  in  that 
vessel,"  he  remarked  to  himself;  "  pity  it  has  so  many  leaks." 
And  swinging  his  cane  jauntily,  he  set  off  down-town,  his  face 
a  picture  of  content. 

John  Tillinghust  occupied  the  most  modest  set  of  offices  to 
be  found  in  the  great  building  he  owned  on  the  corner  of 
Broadway  and  Canal  Street.  There  was  not  a  superfluous  bit 
of  furniture,  even  in  the  private  office  of  the  millionaire  him- 
self; everything  looked  ponderous  and  uncomfortable.  On 
the  only  visit  Marcia  had  ever  made  to  the  building,  she  had 
suggested  putting  in  some  pictures  and  bric-a-brac,  but  he 
stoutly  resented  any  attempts  at  innovation. 

' '  I  want  all  my  help  to  know  when  they  come  here,  that  it 
ain't  a  ladies'  parlor  where  they  can  dawdle  away  their  time. 
These  rooms  are  cleared  for  action;  we  don't  go  in  for  style." 

Tillinghurst  called  himself  a  broker,  but  he  took  a  hand  in 
most  anything  that  promised  a  large  return,  from  lending 
money  on  furniture  to  buying  out  a  business.  In  addition  to 
dealing  in  genera]  stocks  he  was  the,  owner  of  the  Empire, 


CO  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

Flour  Mills  at  113th  Street  and  the  Goshen  Sugar  Eefinery  at 
Hunter's  Point,  besides  being  a  silent  partner  in  a  number  of 
other  lesser  concerns.  His  clerks  were  very  different  from  the 
generality  of  brokers'  clerks.  They  dressed  simply,  and 
looked  like  English  butlers,  moving  about  their  work  silently, 
with  never  a  smile  or  a  joke.  Most  of  them  had  been  with  Mr. 
Tillinghtirst  a  long  while,  and  had  consequently  absorbed  his 
manners  and  brusque  way  of  talking.  They  did  not  love  him 
as  a  task-master,  for  he  always  exacted  one  hundred  cents  on 
the  dollar;  but  the  pay  was  always  sure,  and  he  never  for- 
got those  who  served  him  well. 

Brent,  obedient  to  the  orders  of  his  "  matrimonial  manager," 
as  Captain  Shrike  was  pleased  facetiously  to  call  himself, 
found  Mr.  Tiliinghurst  engaged  when  he  sent  in  his  card  that 
morning. 

He  was  assigned  a  seat  in  the  little  waiting-room  that  was 
separated  from  the  money-spinner's  den  by  a  glass  partition. 
A  more  uninviting  place  to  wait  in  could  not  be  well  imagined. 
There  was  a  hard,  shiny  little  hair-sofa  in  one  corner,  a  great 
yellow  earthenware  cuspadore  on  the  floor,  a  glazed  map  of 
New  York  on  the  walls,  and  the  advertisement  of  an  Accident 
Insurance  Company.  This  last  proved  to  be  the  most  interest- 
ing thing  in  that  doleful  room.  It  presented  a  series  of  graphic 
illustrations  of  ladies  and  gentlemen,  in  green  and  red  cos- 
tumes, being  blown  to  pieces  and  run  over  and  chopped  up  in 
the  most  approved  style. 

Brent  was  studying  this  work  of  art  when  the  sound  of 
angry  voices  reached  him  from  the  direction  of  the  private 
office,  so  loud  that  he  could  not  help  hearing  some  things  said. 
It  was  evident  that  Mr.  Tiliinghurst  was  receiving  a  delega- 
tion of  working-men,  for  he  heard  the  broker  say,  in  an  irri- 
tated voice:  "  I  don't  see  how  I  can  afford  to  come  down  to  an 
eight-hour  schedule  without  cutting  the  pay  down  too,  and  I 
suppose  that  wouldn't  suit  you  at  all  ? " 

There  was  a  negative  growl,  and  a  shuffle  of  heavy  boots. 

"An'  is  that  all  ye  have  to  say  to  the  delygation  ? "  asked  a 
hoarse  voice. 

"All,  for  the  present,"  Mr  Tiliinghurst  replied.  "I  know 
better  than  you  do  what  my  stuff  brings  in  the  market,  and  I 


"  THE  GAME 'S  AFOOT."  61 

am  paying  all  I  can,  unless  I  want  to  run  the  business  for 
fun." 

The  door  clicked,  as  if  the  men  were  about  to  leave ;  Brent 
caught  sight  of  several  tousled  heads  and  some  muddy-look- 
ing boots. 

"If  we  take  that  message  back  to  the  men,"  said  the  owner 
of  two  of  the  boots,  '  'as  I  am  a  livin'  man  they'll  all  go  out  on 
a  strike ;  they  will  indeed,  sir. " 

"Well,  let  'em  strike  and  be  damned."  Then,  catching 
sight  of  John  Brent  at  that  moment,  his  face  underwent  a 
complete  change  of  expression.  "Come  in,"  he  called  out 
cheerily,  his  face  in  a  broad  smile. 

Brent  pushed  by  the  three  sullen,  disappointed-looking  men 
going  out.  They  seemed  so  downcast  at  the  result  of  their 
mission  that  he  felt  sorry  for  them.  He  would  have  liked  to 
say  a  word  to  them,  but  the  sharp  voice  of  the  millionaire 
recalled  him  to  himself  and  to  the  business  before  him. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Tillinghurst,  as  he  grasped  the  extended 
hand  and.  shook  it  warmly,  "  I  am  downright  glad  to  see  you, 
though  it  isn't  such  an  age  since  we  met.  I  dare  say  you 
heard  some  of  the  things  I  said  to  those  men  who  just  went 
out.  They  come  from  my  sugar  refinery  at  Hunter's  Point, 
and  a  precious  sulky  lot  they  are  to  deal  with.  Making  a  fuss 
again  about  their  wages.  Want  to  work  eight  hours  a  day 
and  get  the  same  pay.  They  know,  the  rascals,  that  it  is  the 
busy  season,  and  that  we  have  more  orders  ahead  now  than 
we  can  fill  without  running  over-time." 

"And  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  the  matter?"  asked 
Brent,  seating  himself  at  the  broker's  elbow. 

"  What  am  I  going  to  do?  Why,  not  give  in  an  inch:  that's 
what  I  am  going  to  do.  The  more  they  get,  the  more  they 
want.  I'm  not  going  to  get  left  in  the  lurch  right  now ;  if  they 
strike,  let  'em.  I'll  close  the  mill  and  go  out  of  the  business. 
It's  been  tried  in  Massachusetts  and  worked  first-rate.  I  don't 
believe  in  these  labor  unions,  and  never  did.  I  got  along  all 
right,  when  I  was  a  young  man,  without  walking  delegates 
and  master-workman  humbugs ;  and  what  did  then  ought  to 
do  now."  He  was  talking  excitedly,  with  his  face  flushed  and 
his  eyes  sparkling. 

"There  ought  to  be  someway  of  disposing  of  your  case 


62  A  SLA  VE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

without  resorting  to  extreme  measures,"  Brent  ventured. 
"  Some  day  I  am  going  to  buy  a  factory  and  try  some  of  my 
schemes  on  the  working-men.  There  must  be  a  way  of  deal- 
ing with  the  labor  problem  besides  using  force." 

' '  You  wouldn't  think  so  if  you  had  been  through  all  the 
experience  I  have  had  with  'em,"  drawing  his  lips  tightly 
together.  "I've  tried  every  way  under  the  sun,  and  have 
come  to  the  solemn  conclusion  that  the  only  way  to  get  along 
with  the  working-man  is  to  keep  him  down.  However,  you 
didn't  come  all  the  way  down  here  to  get  my  opinion  on  the 
labor  question,  that's  certain.  How  did  you  like  the  ball  last 
night?  My  daughter  mentioned  meeting  you." 

"  Yes,  I  had  that  pleasure." 

"Queer  girl,  ain't  she?  That  is,  everybody  says  so  when 
they  first  meet  her.  Did  you  notice  that  dress  she  had  on?" 

"  I  noticed  that  it  became  her,"  the  young  man  replied,  a 
little  mystified  at  the  question. 

"Well,  it  wasn't  a  patch  to  the  one  I  had  ordered  for  her  to 
wear  to  the  affair.  When  she  came  home  and  saw  it,  she  said 
it  was — what  is  the  French  for  too  low-cut  in  the  neck?  Any- 
way, she  wouldn't  wear  it,  and  put  on  some  old  thing  she'd 
worn  a  dozen  times.  Spunky  little  thing,  she  is,"  wagging 
his  head  back  and  forth.  "  Never  did  I  see  any  one  like  her." 

"You  ought  to  be  rather  glad  than  sorry  for  that,"  said 
Brent. 

"I  am,  I  am;  but  then  that  girl  is  up  in  the  clouds  so  much 
that  it  ain't  often  she  gets  near  enough  to  earth  forme  to  en  joy 
talking  to  her.  Sometimes  I  wish  she  wasn't  quite  so  knowing, 
more  on  the  style  of  Fanny  Pixley,  for  instance.  There's  a  girl 
for  you !  Why,  I  suppose  there  ain't  much  going  on  in  society 
but  what  she  knows  of." 

"  I  have  always  thought,"  put  in  Brent,  mildly,  "that  there 
was  a  good  deal  going  on  in  society  that  it  was  best  a  girl 
should  not  know." 

"  True,  true !"  said  the  other,  wagging  his  head.  "  I  don't  go 
out  much  myself  in  the  giddy  throng,  but  whenever  I  do  I  am 
pretty  sure  to  trip  over  something  queer  before  I've  got  very 
far.  But  let  us  get  down  to  business ;  I'd  ramble  on  all  day  if 
Marcia  was  the  subject." 

Brent  wanted  to  say  he  could  do  the  same  thing,  but  he 


"THE  GAME'S  AFOOT."  63 

remarked,  "I  came  to  see  you  to-day  to  get  you  to  help  me 
out  of  a  predicament." 

"Not  financial,  I  hope,"  said  the  broker,  pursing  up  his  lips 
as  if  he  wanted  to  smile,  but  somehow  was  ashamed  to. 
"Well,  out  with  it,  and  if  it's  in  a  business  way,  here  you 
are!" 

"  It  is  business,  and  I  think  in  your  line.  In  short,  I  have 
been  living  so  modestly  for  the  past  three  months  that  I  have 
accumulated  over  and  above  my  income  a  little  over  ten 
thousand  dollars  that  I  don't  know  what  to  do  with." 

The  other  stopped  drumming  with  his  fat  fingers  on  the 
table,  and  looked  at  Brent  with  amazement  and  admiration  on 
his  face.  "Ten  thousand  dollars,  eh?  Well  now,  that  ain't 
half  bad  for  a  man  of  your  age ;  "  and  he  resumed  his  drum- 
ming, as  if  he  were  trying  to  count  on  his  fingers  just  how 
much  the  entire  income  must  be. 

"Yes,  ten  thousand  dollars,"  said  Brent;  "and  I  want  to 
get  rid  of  it  badly." 

"  Why  don't  you  put  it  in  my  hands?" 

"I  was  about  to  suggest  that — but  such  a  small  sum,  Mr. 
Tillinghurst — it  would  hardly  be  worth  your  trouble." 

"  Oh,  for  a  friend,  you  know,  is  a  different  thing,"  the 
millionaire  replied,  with  a  gracious  wave  of  his  hand;  "for  a 
friend,  anything ! " 

"I  may  add,"  said  Brent,  "that  I  may  be  able  to  place  in 
your  hands  a  like  amount  every  three  months,  if  I  continue 
to  live  in  the  same  modest  way  that  I  have  been  doing ;  that 
is,  until — 

"Until  you  get  married,  eh? "  asked  the  other,  with  a  bois- 
terous laugh.  "Ah,  then,  my  boy,  you  will  find  your  wife 
can  help  you  get  rid  of  the  surplus  without  any  trouble  at  all." 

Brent  felt  that  his  face  was  flushing ;  he  did  not  know  ex- 
actly why. 

"Lookout,  my  boy,"  rattled  on  the  broker.  "The  crowd 
are  after  you,  and  a  mighty  hungry  pack  they  are,  too.  Don't 
be  cornered.  I  should  hate  to  see  such  a  fine  fellow  as  you 
captured  by  some  scheming  hussy." 

Something  in  the  tone  nettled  Brent. 

"There  is  no  occasion  to  be  alarmed  as  yet,  Mr.  Tilling- 
hurst," he  added  quickly. 


64  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

"  Of  course  not,  of  course  not;  but  it's  just  as  well  to  be  pre- 
pared for  what  might  happen.  That's  the  check,  eh?"  as 
Brent  handed  him  a  slim  strip  of  paper.  ' '  Well,  I'll  see  that 
it  works  hard  for  you  and  brings  in  some  returns.  I'll  guar- 
antee you  at  least  seven  per  cent.,  but  in  these  troubled  times 
a  man  never  knows  where  he  is  coming  out." 

"We  woa't  quarrel  about  the  interest,"  said  Brent ;  "  I  know 
you  will  do  the  best  you  can  for  me.  But  I  was  going  to 
say-" 

A  sharp  rap  on  the  door  caused  him  to  pause  in  his  sentence. 

"  Don't  move,"  said  Tillinghurst ;  "  it's  only  my  confidential 
clerk,"  as  a  gray  head  was  stuck  in  the  doorway.  "  Come  in, 
Mr.  Hawkins." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Tillinghurst,  but  I  thought  you 
were  alone,"  the  old  man  quavered,  as  he  looked  at  Brent 
doubtfully,  blinking  like  an  owl  in  the  sunlight. 

"  Well,  if  you've  got  anything  to  say,  out  with  it,"  was  the 
reply.  ' '  Don't  stand  on  ceremony  because  Mr.  Brent  is  here. 
He  is,  I  may  say,  one  of  our  stockholders,  and  therefore  en- 
titled to  know  a  few  of  the  secrets  of  the  firm,"  and  he  grinned 
in  a  reassuring  way. 

"Well,  it's  just  this,  sir,"  said  the  old  clerk,  not  quite  satis- 
fied whether  he  ought  to  speak  out  or  not;  "I've  just  been 
telephoned  for  by  the  Empire  Mills." 

"  Well,  well,  well;  what's  the  trouble  up  there? " 

' '  Heaps  of  trouble.  The  men  are  all  dissatisfied  and  talk  of 
another  strike,  particularly  the  old  hands.  The  detective  you 
put  on  duty  reports  that  Superintendent  Jim  Connors  is 
secretly  encouraging  them  in  their  demand  for  higher  wages." 

"That's  the  way,  that's  the  way,"  roared  Mr.  Tillinghurst, 
as  he  walked  nervously  up  and  down  the  office,  clinching  his 
fists ;  ' '  that's  the  way  with  those  fellows.  I  might  have  known 
that  hang-dog-looking  Connors  would  turn  on  me  sooner  or 
later.  That's  what  I  get  for  doing  the  Eev.  Mr.  Satine  a 
favor.  He  said  it  would  be  a  noble  act  to  give  that  poor  devil 
a  lift,  because  he  had  a  big  family.  Well,  he'll  get  a  lift  now. 
I'll  lift  him  out,  that's  what  I'll  do ;  "  and  the  broker  shut  his 
teeth  together  closely,  in  that  peculiar  way  which  his  enemies 
knew  always  meant  mischief. 

"Hawkins,"  he  called,  peremptorily,  stopping  short  in  the 


"  THE  GAME'S  AFOOT.1'  65 

middle  of  the  floor,   his  face  still  wearing  its  disagreeable 
expression. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Make  out  Connors'  discharge,  and  bring  it  to  me  to  sign  at 
once,  do  you  hear?" 

"  But,  sir,"  trembled  the  other,  "if  you  discharge  him,  half 
of  the  men  will  follow,  and  here  we  are,  right  in  the  midst  of 
the  busy  season.  As  it  is,  we  have  to  work  over-time  to  fill  all 
our  orders.  I'd  wait  a  bit,  sir." 

"  Well,  I  won't,  and  that's  flat.  Do  you  suppose,"  stamping 
his  feet,  ' '  that  I  am  going  to  let  that  Irishman  walk  over  me 
just  to  save  a  few  dollars?  Go  at  once  and  make  out  that 
discharge-paper,  and  don't  have  so  much  to  say  another  time ; 
I  have  too  many  advisers  now  for  my  own  good." 

The  clerk  disappeared  in  the  direction  of  the  counting-room 
without  another  word. 

"This  is  a  nice  state  of  affairs,"  gasped  Mr.  Tillinghurst, 
sinking  into  a  chair,  and  addressing  no  one  in  particular. 
"  If  I  could  only  get  my  hand  on  the  man  that  invented  trades 
unions  I'd  make  it  hot  for  him,  that's  all  ; "  and  from  the 
expression  on  his  face  it  was  safe  to  infer  that  he  meant 
it.  "Nice  fix  I'm  in,  taking  things  all  around.  The  Goshen 
Refinery  all  ready  for  a  strike,  and  now  this  fuss  up  at  the 
Empire  Mills.  It's  just  like  Jim  Connors  to  walk  right  out 
of  the  place  as  soon  as  he  gets  my  letter,  and  leave  me  with- 
out a  superintendent,  or  a  blessed  soul  to  look  after  my  inter- 
ests; just  like  the  ungrateful  cuss.  I  suppose  I'll  have  to 
leave  my  business  and  go  up  there  and  tend  to  things  my- 
self. 

"  No  need  of  that,"  said  Brent,  touching  him  gently  on  the 
arm ;  "  I'll  go  myself." 

If  a  torpedo  had  exploded  under  the  worthy  millionaire's 
chair,  he  could  not  have  started  with  more  surprise  than  he 
did. 

"  You?"  he  asked,  in  a  tone  of  amazement. 

"Yes,  why  not  ?  I  worked  several  years  in  a  Western  flour- 
mill,  and  know  the  business  thoroughly.  Now,  don  't  laugh," 
as  the  broker's  face  puckered  up  in  ominous  creases  ;  "there 
must  be  some  fatality  in  your  losing  a  superintendent  just  at 
this  time." 
5 


66  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

"  Why,  what  do  you  mean? " 

"  Only  that  I  was  going  to  ask  you,  before  I  went  away,  if 
you  knew  where  I  could  get  something  to  do." 

"Why,  I  always  thought  you  were  an  elegant  man  of  lei- 
sure, who  rather  looked  down  on  poor  working-folks  like  us." 

"Quite  the  contrary.  I  am  tired  of  loafing,  even  if  the 
loafing-ground  is  draped  with  satin  and  carpeted  with  Axmin- 
ster.  I  thought  I  should  never  tire  of  idleness,  because  I 
worked  so  hard  as  a  boy ;  but  I  am  getting  restless,  and  want 
something  to  occupy  my  mind." 

"  Let  me  shake  hands  on  that,"  said  the  broker,  extending 
a  great  fat  hand,  which  Brent  shook  gravely;  "  I  thought 
you  had  more  in  you  than  those  lanky  fellers  I  meet  out  and 
around,  who  couldn't  make  three  dollars  a  week  if  they  had 
to  earn  it  themselves.  I  like  to  see  a  man  work,  and  hard 
too ;  let  the  women-folks  do  the  dawdlin'  about ;  it  won't  do 
for  able-bodied  men  like  you  and  me.  I  thought  you  were 
joking  at  first,  but  now  I  know  you  are  serious,  why,  I'll  do 
all  I  can  for  you." 

"  All  I  ask  is,  that  you  will  try  me  for  a  few  weeks  up  at 
the  mills ;  and  if  I  don't  get  along  with  the  men,  a  hint  will 
easily  get  rid  of  me." 

"  But  your  social  obligations,  what  of  them?"  asked  Mr. 
Tillinghurst.  "  Won't  it  be  rather  hard  at  first  to  give  up 
all  the  pink  suppers  and  kettledrums  and  afternoon  what- 
do-you-call-'ems?  "  with  a  suspicion  of  a  grin  on  his  face. 

"  I  am  quite  sure  I  can  get  along  with  a  smaller  quantity  of 
social  hilarity.  It's  only  when  a  man  is  idle  that  he  takes 
pleasure  in  such  entertainments." 

"Well!  I  am  in  such  a  corner  that  I  don't  know  where  to 
turn.  I  don't  know  as  you  could  mix  things  up  any  worse  if 
you  wanted  to.  So  I  don't  mind  if  you  do  try  your  hand  at 
the  mills.  Any  man  that's  at  all  smart  ought  to  get  along  up 
there.  The  foremen  all  know  the  business  thoroughly,  and  all 
you  will  have  to  do  is  to  examine  their  daily  reports  and  keep 
your  weather  eye  open.  If  you  get  in  a  snarl  or  don't  know 
what  to  do,  just  consult  Jenkins;  he's  only  the  book-keeper 
of  the  mills,  but  he  knows  the  whole  business  from  top  to 
bottom.  Connors  never  was  much  more  than  a  figure-head 
anyway,  and  if  you  and  I  hold  consultations  once  in  a  while, 


"THE  GAME'S  AFOOT."  67 

I  guess  the  Empire  Mills  won't  go  under  quite  yet  awhile. 
You  are  quite  certain  you  are  in  earnest? " 

"Quite,"  said  Brent,  and  there  was  no  doubt  that  he  had 
made  up  his  mind  fully. 

"  And  you  will  begin  ? " 

"  To-morrow,  if  you  like." 

' '  Good !  Come  up  to  my  house  to-night,  and  we'll  talk  the 
matter  over.  I  can  post  you  a*bout  your  duties  in  a  half -hour. 
I  don't  believe  you  will  have  any  trouble  if  you  begin  by  put- 
ting your  foot  down.  Don't  begin  by  being  kind,  that's  all, 
for  they  will  only  jump  on  you  the  first  chance  they  get." 

"  I  shall  try  to  do  right,  I  hope,"  said  the  young  man  eva- 
sively, as  he  said  good-bye  and  left  the  office. 

Mr.  Tillinghurst  watched  the  young  man  from  the  window 
as  he  got  into  his  carriage  and  was  whirled  up-town,  then  he 
sat  down  by  his  desk  and  gave  vent  to  a  low  and  prolonged 
whistle. 

"Well,  there's  a  queer  character  for  you!  Ten  thousand 
dollars  surplus  out  of  his  quarter's  income,  and  anxious  to 
work  eight  hours  a  day.  Never  made  any  mention  of  salary 
either.  I  won't  be  the  first  to  suggest  it.  Hum !  he's  not 
much  of  a  business  man ;  but  he's  plucky.  Blame  it  all,  he's 
plucky,"  shaking  his  head  back  and  forth. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

OLD  MAN  BOWKER. 

"I  HOPE  Joe  ain't  goin' to  mix  hisself  up  in  none  of  this 
trouble.  Porter's  folks  is  downright  starvin'  ever  sence  he 
went  out  of  the  shop  this  day  three  weeks." 

The  speaker  was  a  slender  young  woman,  with  a  pale  face 
and  watery  blue  eyes,  who  wore  a  smart  little  bonnet  and  a 
gay  blue-and- white  shawl.  She  was  seated  in  a  wicker  rock- 
ing-chair, by  the  window,  looking  out  at  the  dirty  children 
playing  about  the  fountain  in  Bolger's  Court. 

' '  I  thought  I'd  drop  in  to  see  if  there  was  any  news  from 
up  above,"  she  added,  addressing  an  elderly  woman  bending 
over  a  wash-tub  in  one  corner  of  the  room.  ' '  You  ain't  heerd 
nothin',  have  you,  Mrs.  Skerritt?  " 

"No,  I  ain't,  Malvina,"  stopping  to  wring  a  flaming  red 
garment.  "  But  there's  a  good  bit  o'  talk  up  there  among  the 
men,  and  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  Joe  took  a  hand  in  it.  He's 
kind  of  fond  of  speakin'  out  his  idees,  is  Joe.  I  used  to  be 
proud  of  it,  but  in  these  times  it's  likely  to  git  him  into 
trouble." 

"  He  can  speak  as  much  as  he  has  a  mind  to,  so  long  as  he 
don't  go  into  no  strikes,"  said  the  girl.  "What  would  become 
of  the  money  he  saved  up  to  buy  our  furniture  with,  if  they 
was  ordered  out?  It  would  go  like — like  melted  butter." 

"Oh,  I  got  faith  in  Joe,"  said  the  elderly  woman,  again 
bending  over  her  tub  with  a  sigh.  "I  know  he  won't  do 
nothin'  rash.  He's  just  like  the  Walkers,  and  they  was  always 
a  cautious  crowd." 

' '  Yes,  but  if  the  Brotherhood  orders  him  out,  he's  got  to 
go,"  said  the  young  woman,  rocking  backwards  and  forwards 
in  her  chair  furiously ;  "  and  then  the  money  '11  go  too." 

"  Why  don't  the  Brotherhood  pay  'em  so  much  a  week  when 
they  are  out  on  strike? "  asked  Mrs.  Skerritt. 

"Well,  they  pretends  to ;  but,  bless  yer  soul,  there  is  so  many 

68 


OLD  MAN  EOWKER.  69 

strikes  nowadays  that  there  ain't  nigh  enough  money  to  go 
round.  Jim  Quigley  drew  three  dollars  last  Saturday  from 
the  'sociation,  but  what's  that  for  a  sick  wife  and  three  chil- 
dren, and  the  rent  five  a  month." 

' '  Well,  there  ain't  no  use  of  thinkin'  about  it  till  the  time 
comes,"  said  Mrs.  Skerritt,  with  a  sigh.  "  We've  weathered 
some  pretty  hard  times  since  George  was  took  away,  and  I  guess 
we  kin  get  along  in  some  kind  o'  shape  if  there  is  a  strike. " 

"Well,  I  hope  so,"  said  Malvina,  taking  some  knitting  from 
her  pocket  and  beginning  to  work. 

' '  What  I  don't  like  is  him  goin'  so  much  to  the  meetin's  up 
in  Sixth  Street.  It  don't  do  him  110  good  to  hear  them  Eoosh- 
ians  and  Dutchmen  making  speeches  and  talkin'  agin'  the  laws 
and  what  they'd  do  if  they  only  had  their  way  and  could  blow 
the  capitalists  into  kingdom  come.  I  wish  you'd  say  some- 
thin'  to  him,  Malvina.  It  ain't  no  good  for  me. " 

" I  will  that, "  said  the  girl,  "I  met  him  one  night  comin' 
home  with  the  fellow  they  call  Heckelmann,  a  Dutchman  that 
lives  in  Walker's  alley,  and  was  arrested  for  beatin'  his  wife. 
He's  one  of  them  agitators,  and  has  got  a  regular  prison  face 
on  him,  though  Joe  says  he's  mighty  smart  for  a  furriner. 
But  how's  your  rheumaticks,  Mrs.  Skerritt?"  with  a  rapid 
change  of  the  subject. 

"Well,  it  ain't  so  bad,  Malvina,"  straightening  herself  up. 
"  There  ain't  nothing  so  good  for  sech  things  as  turpentine  and 
peppermint.  I  wouldn't  have  it  so  bad  if  I  could  keep  these 
two  rooms  clean  and  dry.  I  never  see  sich  wet  walls  in  all 
my  life,  and  I  keep  a  fire  goin'  most  o'  the  time." 

' '  Have  you  seen  them  new  sanitary  flats  on  East  Broad- 
way?" asked  Malvina.  "I  hear  they  was  built  for  poor  folks, 
and  is  clean  and  well  ventilated.  They  looks  real  handsome 
from  the  outside,  and  the  rent  ain't  so  dear,  neither." 

The  old  woman  shook  her  head.  "You  could  never  get  Joe 
to  move  into  such  a  place,  Malvina.  He  wouldn't  put  Tip  with 
the  rules  and  regulations.  When  my  old  man  was  alive,  we 
tried  one  of  them  flats  in  Jersey  City.  It  was  a  beautiful  place 
—just  as  clean  and  dry ;  and  the  rooms,  if  they  was  small,  had 
nice  big  windows  and  high  ceilings.  I  could  ha'  stood  it  well 
enough,  but  father  wouldn't  mind  the  rules,  so  we  left  and 
came  here." 


70  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

"Why,  was  the  rules  hard?" 

"No,  they  wasn't  so  hard  when  you  come  to  think  'em  over, 
but  it  galled  the  men  to  be  treated  like  children.  "  For  one 
thing,  everybody  had  to  be  indoors  by  ten  o'clock.  No  beer  or 
anything  stronger  was  allowed  in  the  place.  Rooms  had  to  be 
swept  on  Tuesdays  and  Fridays,  and  there  was  a  woman  who 
went  all  over  the  house  on  these  days  to  see  that  it  was  done." 

' '  Well,  that  couldn't  have  been  a  hard  rule  for  you  to  follow, 
Mrs.  Skerritt,"  said  the  girl,  looking  at  the  spotless  floor  and 
the  polished  array  of  platters  and  dishes  on  the  dresser. 

"I  know  that,  but  it  made  me  mad  to  have  somebody 
watchiii'  over  me  all  the  time  to  see  that  I  kep'  everything 
clean— just  as  if  I  didn't  know  enough  to  do  it  alone." 

"I  suppose  they  got  up  the  laws  for  them  as  didn't,"  said 
Malvina.  "I  know  it'd  be  a  mighty  good  thing  if  they'd  make 
old  Bowker  on  the  floor  below  clean  up  his  place  a  bit.  I 
never  see  so  much  dirt  in  my  life.  It's  about  a  foot  deep  over 
everything. " 

' '  What  a  man  he  is,  to  be  sure !  I  fix  up  a  bit  for  him  now 
and  then,  but  bless  me,  I  don't  have  time  to  look  after  my  own 
work,  let  alone  anybody  else's.  That  reminds  me  that  he's 
laid  up  with  a  fever  just  now.  I  must  drop  in  an'  see  him 
before  dinner-time." 

"  It  ain't  any  catchin'  fever,  is  it? "  asked  Malvina,  with  some 
hesitation. 

"No,  just  a  tech  of  agy,  that's  all.  He's  been  workin'  purty 
hard — that  is,  for  an  old  man.  Diggin'  trenches  for  water  pipes 
somewhere  up  town.  Kerosene  and  raw  eggs  is  the  thing  for 
him.  Mercy!"  stopping  to  wring  apiece  of  clothing,  ''how 
that  old  fellow  has  changed  since  he  first  come  here  with  his 
wife.  He  was  kind  o'  spruce-lookin' ;  and  she  wTas  a  lady  if  I 
ever  see  one.  They  took  the  first  floor  parlor  when  they  came, 
but  as  things  went  from  bad  to  worse,  they  kept  moving  into 
meaner  rooms  higher  up  in  the  building.  She  caught  her  death 
while  movin'  into  that  very  room  where  he's  a  lyin'  now  on  his 
back,  poor  man.  It  changed  him  fearful.  It's  a  pity  he  didn't 
die  along  o'  her,  instead  o'  hangin'  on  miserable,  drinking  his- 
self  into  the  grave."  Mrs.  Skerritt  paused  to  wipe  the  suds 
out  of  her  eyes.  "  What  a  sight  o'  misery  these  old  walls  has 


OLD  NAN  BOWKEE.  ,    71 

seen !"  she  remarked,  half  to  herself,  as  she  dried  her  hands 
on  her  apron,  and  set  the  tub  away  under  the  closet  shelves. 

"Look,"'  said  Malvina,  suddenly  starting  up  and  pointing 
into  the  court-yard;  "ain't  that  the  daughter  of  Joe's  boss 
comin'  in?" 

" That's  so,  it  is,"  said  Mrs.  Skerritt,  peeping  out;  " and  she's 
sure  to  drop  in  here,  and  all  the  clothes  from  the  wash  layin' 
round  everywhere.  Here.  Malvina,  help  me  tidy  things  up  a 
bit.  I  wouldn't  have  the  young  lady  see  the  room  in  this 
shape  for  anything." 

They  bustled  about  so  effectively  that  they  soon  restored 
things  to  their  places,  and  were  still  dusting  the  chairs  when  a 
knock  sounded  at  the  door. 

Marcia  had  brought  Fanny  Pixley  with  her,  that  young  lady 
having  expressed  a  desire,  some  time  ago,  to  view  the  field  of 
her  friend's  labors.  She  was  drawn  more  by  curiosity  than  by 
sympathy,  for  she  was  the  kind  of  girl  who  abhorred  poverty 
in  all  its  shapes.  True  it  was,  that,  every  Sunday  afternoon, 
she  taught  a  group  of  youngsters  the  elements  of  religion  in 
the  basement  of  the  church  of  the  Heavenly  Hope,  where  Mr. 
Satine  held  forth ;  but  she  endured  the  task  only  because  it  was 
fashionable  in  her  set,  and  a  duty  that  she  could  not  well  omit. 
Marcia  had  urged  her  to  wear  an  unassuming  attire  on  this 
trip  among  the  city's  poor,  and  she  had  reluctantly  given  up 
the  opportunity  of  donning  a  new  costume,  which  had  just 
come  home  from  the  modiste's,  and  attired  herself  in  a  black 
velvet  gown,  trimmed  with  jet,  and  a  Rembrandt  hat  with 
dark  blue  ostrich  plumes.  Marcia,  who  was  dressed  in  a  neat 
alpaca,  without  an  inch  of  trimming  on  it,  frowned  at  Fanny 
Pixley's  rather  theatrical  get-up,  but  she  said  nothing. 

The  young  ladies  were  warmly  welcomed  by  Mrs.  Skerritt, 
who  put  tidies  on  her  best  chairs  for  her  guests,  and  seemed 
overwhelmed  with  the  importance  of  the  call. 

"  This  is  Joe's  young  woman,"  she  said,  introducing  Malvina, 
who  seemed  to  have  suddenly  lost  her  power  of  speech,  and 
could  only  regard  Fanny  Pixley's  costume  in  mute  wonder. 
"  She  and  Joe  is  to  be  married  in  the  spring." 

It  was  now  Malvina's  opportunity  to  blush,  a  performance 
which  Miss  Pixley  regarded  with  some  interest,  not  to  say 
wonder. 


72  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

"  I  have  been  hearing  some  very  good  news  about  your  son," 
said  Marcia,  pleasantly. 

"  And  is  that  so,  Miss?  Well,  now,  I'm  downright  glad  to 
hear  you  say  it,"  beamed  Mrs.  Skerritt. 

"My  father's  superintendent,  Mr.  Brent — " 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Brent;  I've  heard  Joe  speak  of  him." 

"  He  says  Joe  is  one  of  the  best  workmen  in  the  mill,  and 
may  be  made  foreman  before  the  winter's  over." 

"Well,  now,  Joe'll  be  downright  glad  to  hear  that.  Mal- 
vina,"  to  the  girl,  who  was  still  studying  the  Rembrandt  hat 
and  its  waving  plumes,  "did  you  hear  that,  Malvina,  what 
the  lady  says  about  Joe?  "  But  the  girl  was  too  absorbed  in 
taking  an  inventory  of  Fanny's  costume  to  pay  much  atten- 
tion, even  though  it  concerned  her  lover. 

"  And  how  is  your  good  father,  Miss? "  asked  Mrs.  Skerritt. 
She  hated  the  millionaire  cordially,  but  wanted  to  seem  polite 
to  her  fair  guest. 

"  Very  well,  thank  you,"  said  Marcia.  "I  am  going  to  get 
him  to  speak  to  Mr.  Bolger  about  these  damp  walls.  I  am  sure 
half  of  the  sickness  in  the  building  comes  from  them.  It  ought 
to  be  different." 

"And  it's  very  kind  of  you,  Miss,  to  be  wastin'  your 
thoughts  on  us  poor  folks, "  Mrs.  Skerritt  broke  in  gratefully. 
"  And  would  you  mind  statin'  at  the  same  time  that  the  gas 
leaks  in  the  basement  that  bad  that  I'm  always  dreamin'  I've 
fallen  into  a  sewer;  and  there's  the  McGintys  on  the  fourth 
back,  who  are  always  emptyin'  things  out  the  window.  It 
was  only  yesterday  that  I  had  me  head  out  talkin'  to  the  milk- 
man, when  they  empties  out  a  load  of  ashes  that  tuck  me  in  the 
neck  and  most  knocked  me  into  the  court ;  and  they'd  ought  to 
put  up  a  railin'  around  the  fountain,  for  them  childers  is  always 
droppin'  through  into  the  basin,  and — and —  But  she  was 
too  exhausted  to  go  on,  and  sat  down  and  mopped  her  face 
for  some  moments  with  the  corner  of  her  apron. 

"It  won't  do  to  ask  for  too  much  at  once,  Mrs.  Skerritt," 
said  Marcia.  ' '  The  reforms  must  be  brought  about  by  degrees. 
You  leave  it  all  to  me,  and  I  have  no  doubt  that,  in  time, 
Bolger's  Court  will  be  equal  to  any  tenement  in  the  neighbor- 
hood." 

She  had  made  up  her  mind  some  time  ago  that  the  court 


OLD  MAN  BOWKER.  73 

was  a  good  field  for  her  to  try  some  of  her  pet  projects.  A 
model  tenement  house  it  should  be,  she  resolved,  if  money 
could  accomplish  such  an  end. 

"  And  now,  how  are  all  my  charges  since  I  was  here  last?  " 
asked  Marcia,  looking  at  her  watch.  "  I  have  very  little  time 
to  spend  here  to-day,  so  I  thought  I'd  come  to  you  first  and 
get  all  the  news.  Teh1  me  what  has  happened,  and  what  is 
needed,  and  who  needs  it." 

Malvina,  having  managed  to  get  a  corner  of  Fanny  Pixley's 
dress  in  her  fingers,  was  examining  it  curiously,  and  too 
deeply  interested  to  hear  anything  of  the  conversation. 

"Well,  "began  Mrs.  Skerritt,  counting  on  her  fingers,  "that 
gal  on  the  top  floor  as  was  starvin'  last  week  has  got  work. 
It's  only  shirts  at  eight  cents  a  piece,  but  then  it  buys  her  vit- 
tles,  if  she  works  eighteen  hours  a  day.  Then  there's  the 
twins  in  the  third  back.  Well,  they're  just  eatin'  their  heads 
off.  I  tell  you  what  you  might  do,  Miss,  if  you  feels  like  it." 

"What's  that?" 

' '  Mr.  Watkins  as  sells  papers  at  Fulton  Market  has  broken 
his  leg." 

Fanny  Pixley  shuddered  at  the  sound  of  this  unfamiliar 
word,  but  took  care  not  to  express  her  disgust  aloud. 

"I  will  send  him  a  doctor  at  once,"  said  Marcia.  "Not 
serious,  I  hope?" 

"  Oh,  no,  Miss,  it  was  only  a  wooden  one;  but  he  can't  go 
on  with  his  business  until  he  gets  a  new  one." 

''  He  shall  have  the  best  the  market  affords,"  Marcia 
laughed,  "with  all  modern  improvements.  Well,  what 
next?" 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Skerritt,  thoughtfully,  "perhaps  you 
wouldn't  mind  lookin'  in  on  old  man  Bowker." 

"  Bowker— Bowker? — I  don't  think  I  have  ever  seen  him." 

"  Perhaps  not,  Miss.  He's  kind  of  gone  up  here,  they  say," 
tapping  her  forehead  with  a  long,  red  finger ;  ' '  though  I  always 
found  him  a  harmless  sort  o'  chap." 

"  What  is  the  trouble? " 

"He's  dreadful  sick  with  some  kind  of  fever." 

' '  Oh ! "  shrieked  Fanny  Pixley,  looking  towards  the  door  as 
if  she  was  tempted  to  bolt. 

"  It  ain't  nothin'  catchin',  Miss,"  continued  Mrs.  Skerritt,  a 


74  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

little  scornfully,  addressing  that  young  lady.  "It's  not  me 
that  has  been  a  mother  eight  times  as  would  let  ye  go  to  the 
poor  creature  if  it  was  dangerous.  He's  just  breakin'  down, 
is  old  man  Bowker.  You  can  a'most  see  through  him,  and 
when  he  coughs  it's  like  a  watchman's  rattle.  He's  had  some 
sad  story,  I  know  by  his  face.  He  goes  shufflin'  about  the 
court  like  a  ghost,  and  scarin'  women  folks  half  to  death — as 
miserable  a  lookin'  man  as  ever  drew  breath.  You  may  have 
noticed  him  sunning  himself  out  in  the  yard  some  day." 

"  I  think  I  met  him  once  on  the  stairs.  He  glared  at  me, 
and  then  passed  on." 

"  Oh,  he's  very  harmless,  Miss.  Only  a  bit  daft  on  account 
of  troubles." 

"And  he  is  sick  and  in  want?  I'll  go  and  see  him  now," 
rising.  "Here,"  to  Mrs.  Skerritt,  taking  a  bill  out  of  her 
pocket-book  and  handing  it;  "that  will  restore  Mr.  Wat- 
kins'  missing  member.  Come,  Fanny." 

' '  But,  surely,  Marcia,  you  won't  go  into  a  room  where  there 
is  a  fever,"  protested  that  young  lady,  adjusting  her  bonnet 
by  the  small  looking-glass  nailed  on  the  wall.  ' '  Think  of  the 
risk." 

"  Oh  it's  nothing  that  ye  can  catch,  ladies,"  interposed  Mrs. 
Skerritt.  "  I've  seen  the  poor  old  man  this  blessed  day,  and 
it's  nothin'  more  nor  less  than  a  touch  of  fever  and  agy,  that's 
all.  Malvina  '11  go  and  show  you  the  way,  won't  you? "  turn- 
ing to  the  young  person. 

"That  I  will,"  promptly  replied  Joe's  fiancee,  eager  not  to 
lose  sight  of  the  wonderful  velvet  dress ;  ' '  and  it's  help  the 
poor  old  chap  needs,  bad  enough,"  as  she  led  the  way  out  of  the 
room,  well  pleased  to  be  the  guide  of  two  such  elegant  young 
ladies. 

"  I'm  sure  this  will  be  the  death  of  me,  Marcia,"  Fanny  mur- 
mured, as  they  bade  hospitable  Mrs.  Skerritt  good-bye  and 
crossed  the  hallway. 

"  But  you  needn't  come  in  unless  you  want  to,  Fanny." 

"  Oh,  I  can't  leave  you,"  was  the  response.  "  Something  ter- 
rible might  happen  to  you,  and  then  I  should  nev-er  forgive 
myself,  never,"  almost  in  a  whimper. 

Marcia  smiled  in  spite  of  herself  at  the  thought  of  Fanny  in 
the  role  of  protector  in  time  of  danger,  but  said  nothing,  as 


OLD  MAN  BOWSER.  75 

they  threaded  their  way  through  the  dim-lit  hallway,  filled 
with  noisome  odors. 

Fanny  Pixley's  high-heeled  French  shoes  tinkled  strangely 
on  the  rough,  uneven  planks  of  the  floor,  as  she  felt  her  way 
along,  smelling-bottle  in  hand,  wishing  in  her  heart  that  she 
had  gone  to  the  Gillespies'  reception,  instead  of  wasting  the 
afternoon  in  a  tenement-house. 

"  I'll  go  in  first,"  said  Malvina,  pausing  in  front  of  a  door  at 
the  end  of  the  gallery.  "Then -I'll  let  you  know  if  you  can 
come  in."  She  left  them  standing  in  the  hall,  and  disappeared. 

"Oh,  how  can  you  run  such  risks?"  piped  Fanny  Pixley. 
"  What  a  girl  you  are,  Marcia! " 

"It  is  not  too  late  for  you  to  turn  back,"  said  Marcia,  as 
Malvina  beckoned  them  in. 

Fanny  said  no  more,  but  timidly  followed  her  friend  on  tip- 
toe through  the  door. 

The  room  in  which  the  girls  found  themselves  was  small  and 
damp,  and  lit  only  by  a  dirty  skylight,  through  which  the 
sunshine  fell  dimly,  as  if  loath  to  enter  such  a  dismal  hole. 
Some  broken  bits  of  bread  and  a  rusty  coffee-pot  stood  on  the 
only  chair  in  the  room,  and  the  fire-place  was  empty  and 
cold-looking.  Marcia  shuddered  in  spite  of  herself. 

Old  man  Bowker  lay  on  a  straw  mattress  in  one  corner  of 
the  room.  His  lips  were  moving  to  and  fro  as  he  murmured 
incoherent  words  to  himself,  apparently  unconscious  that  he 
had  visitors.  His  thin,  pinched  features  were  flushed ,  an 
unnatural  red,  and  the  veins  in  his  forehead  stood  out  like 
knotted  cords.  His  bony  hands  moved  about  the  many- 
colored  patchwork  quilt  as  if  he  were  writing  something,  and 
his  watery -blue  eyes  rolled  helplessly  in  their  sockets. 

Malvina  left  the  girls  in  the  half-darkness  and  approached 
the  bed. 

"Mr.  Bowker,  Mr.  Bowker,"  she  called,  gently.  "There's 
two  young  ladies  that  have  come  to  see  you." 

He  looked  at  her  vacantly,  as  if  he  had  not  understood  ex- 
actly what  she  said.  Then  his  eyes,  wandering  about  the 
room,  saw  the  two  girls  standing  motionless  in  the  corner. 
"To  see  me  ? "  he  asked,  incredulously. 

"Yes,  to  see  you."          • 

He  laughed— a  strange  laugh  that  filled  the  old  room  with 


7G  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

peculiar  echoes.  Fanny  Pixley  could  hardly  repress  a  tiny 
scream,  and  clung  even  closer  to  her  friend.  Marcia  came 
forward. 

"I  was  visiting  Bolger's  Court,"  she  said  softly,  "and  Mal- 
vina  here, "  lay  ing  her  hand  on  the  girl's  shoulder,  "told  me 
you  were  ill,  so  I  came  to  see  if  I  could  not  do  something 
for  you." 

"But  what  do  you  get  out  of  it  ? "  he  asked  suspiciously. 

"  What  do  I  get  ? — the  satisfaction  of  doing  good.  You  are 
in  trouble,  sick;  I  want  to  help  you." 

"And  without  any  hope  of  reward  ? " 

"  Without  any  hope  of  reward." 

He  looked  at  her  curiously,  and  laughed  again.  "  The  world 
must  be  growing  better,"  he  said,  wagging  his  head  back  and 
forwards,  and  staring  at  her  with  dull,  lack-lustre  eyes.  "  Yes, 
it  nmst  be  growing  better. " 

"I  hope  so." 

"  There's  lots  o'  chance  for  improvement,  ain't  there?" 

"You  have  suffered  a  good  deal,"  she  said  soothingly.  "  Be- 
lieve me,  there  is  still  much  good  in  the  world." 

"There  maybe,  but  it  don't  come  my  way.  I  guess  it's 
mostly  confined  to  Fifth  Avenue  and  Murray  Hill,"  chuckling 
to  himself.  ' '  You  look  as  if  you  came  from  that  neighbor- 
hood," he  added,  touching  her  dress  with  a  long,  bony  finger, 
and  staring  at  Fanny  Pixley,  who  retired  behind  her  friend. 
"  That  looks  like  real  velvet,  and  I  believe  it  is.  We  don't  see 
much  of  such  things  in  this  end  of  the  town." 

"You  have  lived  here  a  long  while,  Mr.  Bowker  ?"  Marcia 
said,  trying  to  change  his  rambling  talk. 

"  About  a  month,  that's  all;  before  that  I  used  to  live  up  by 
the  Hill,  too." 

"Indeed!" 

"Yes,  and  it's  so.  Is  the  fight  still  going  on  there?''  he 
asked  earnestly. 

"  The  fight  ? "  she  said  puzzled ;  "  what  fight  ? " 

"  Why,  the  fight  that  is  never  finished.  It's  a  good  while 
since  I've  been  in  the  world,  but  I  suppose  things  are  pretty 
much  the  same.  The  fight  for  fame  and  fortune  and  money — 
does  that  still  go  on  ?  I  was  once  in  the  thick  of  it,  but  they 
downed  me.  I  fell  down,  and.  the  wheels,  went  over  me ;  ground. 


OLD  NAN  BOWKEE.  77 

me  to  powder.  We've  had  lots  of  that  sort  of  cripples  in 
Bolger's  Court — wrecks  thrown  on  these  dirty  sands  like  so 
much  drift-wood,  only  fit  to— to  burn.  Yes,  they'll  burn, "  with 
a  chuckle ;  "  no  doubt  they'll  burn,"  breaking  into  a  fit  of  laugh- 
ter. 

"  I  hope  you  will  soon  get  over  this  attack,  Mr.  Bowker," 
Marcia  ventured.  This  horrible  old  man  frightened  her,  with 
his  claw-like  hands  and  livid  face. 

"Yes,  yes,"  rolling  his  eyes.  "But  I  don't  mind  being 
delirious.  I  forget  where  I  am  and  who  I  am ;  then  I  go  back 
about  ten  years  or  more,  and  live  my  life  all  over  again ,  and 
I  whistle  and  sing.  Why,  it's  just  as  good  as  being  a  boy  once 
more ;  "  he  broke  into  a  fit  of  coughing  that  shook  him  like  a 
leaf. 

As  he  shivered  a  good  deal,  Marcia  bade  Malvina  make  up  a 
fire  in  the  hearth,  and  the  blazing  logs  soon  restored  a  com- 
fortable temperature  to  the  damp  air  of  the  room. 

"Would  you  say  I  was  crazy?"  asked  old  man  Bowker, 
suddenly  pausing  in  the  midst  of  a  song  he  was  humming  to 
himself  in  quavering  tones,  and  looking  at  her  earnestly. 

"  What  makes  you  think  so  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Every  one  tells  me  so  around  here.  The  children  run 
away  from  me.  I've  begun  to  think  so  myself.  I'd  like  to  kill 
some  of  them,  that's  all,"  with  savage  emphasis. 

"  Hush,  you  mustn't  say  that,"  laying  her  finger  on  her  lips. 
"You  are  ill;  you  don't  know  what  might  happen  to  you. 
Suppose  you  were  to  die  to-night." 

"Oh,  no,  I  won't,"  he  said,  confidently.  " I'm  not  going  to 
die — that  is,  not  just  yet." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?    Your  fate  is  in  another's  hands." 

It  was  plain  he  was  getting  more  delirious. 

"  I  shan't  die,  I  tell  you;  no,  not  till  I've  squared  accounts. 
I  was  a  book-keeper  once,  ye  see,  and  I  like  to  see  accounts 
kept  straight.  The  debit  and  credit  ain't  balanced  yet,"  mak- 
ing figures  in  the  air  with  a  long,  bony  finger;  "when  they 
are,  why,  I'll  die  without  a  whimper ;  but  not  till  then — not 
till  then." 

The  words  rolled  hoarsely  in  his  throat ;  he  rubbed  his  worn 
hands  together  and  sighed.  She  rose  to  go. 

"Don't  leave  me,"  he  pleaded,  turning  his  white  face,  with 


78  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

its  beseeching  eyes,  towards  her.  ' '  You  are  the  sweetest  thing 
I've  seen  in  all  these  long  years,  since — since — I  was  a  man ;" 
and  a  tear  trickled  down  his  wasted  cheek  as  he  held  out  his 
hands  pleadingly ;  "  donrt  go  just  yet." 

"  I  must,"  she  said. 

"  But  you  will  come  again? " 

"  Yes,  some  day,  when  I  hope  to  find  you  much  better." 

She  slipped  a  couple  of  silver  dollars  down  on  the  chair  when 
he  was  not  looking.  His  hand  was  still  extended,  and  she 
could  not  refuse  to  take  it  as  she  bade  him  good-bye.  He 
pressed  hers  feebly,  but  seemed  loath  to  let  her  go. 

"Come,  I'll  show  you  the  way  down,  Miss  Tillinghurst,"  said 
Malvina,  opening  the  door. 

The  words  had  scarcely  left  the  girl's  lips  when  Marcia  felt 
the  grasp  on  her  hand  suddenly  tighten,  until  she  could  hardly 
repress  a  scream  of  pain.  The  sight  of  the  old  man's  changed 
face  alarmed  her.  His  thin  lips  worked  convulsively,  and  the 
pale-blue  eyes  rolled  helplessly  in  their  sockets,  while  he  strove 
in  vain  to  speak.  He  seemed  to  be  trying  to  get  up. 

"  Oh,  he's  took  dreadful  bad,  Miss,"  cried  Malvina,  as  Marcia 
tore  herself  away  from  his  grasp.  "  Let  us  go  before  he  gets 
any  worse." 

"Yes — yes,  go!"  he  cried  hoarsely,  shaking  his  nerveless 
hands  at  them,  while  his  long  fingers  seemed  to  writhe  like 
snakes.  "  G»  away — as  far  as  you  can."  Then,  catching  sight 
of  the  money  on  the  chair,  he  took  it  up  and  hurled  it  at  Marcia 
with  a  curse  that  made  her  shudder. 

Malvina,  who  alone  had  kept  her  presence  of  mind,  pushed 
the  frightened  girls  through  the  door,  and  closed  it  after  them 
hastily.  They  could  hear  his  voice  growling  out  curses  as  they 
sped  along  the  corridor,  with  blanched  faces  and  beating 
hearts. 

Fanny  Pixley  had  much  to  say  at  the  dinner  that  night. 
She  was  glad  of  the  adventure  for  the  reason  that  it  gave  her 
something  to  talk  about.  As  for  Marcia,  she  looked  troubled 
for  many  days  after.  The  livid  face  of  the  old  man  was  ever 
before  her,  his  curses  still  rang  in  her  ears,  waking  or  sleeping 
his  memory  haunted  her. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  SUPERINTENDENT  OF  THE  EMPIRE  MILLS. 

"THERE'S  some  hungry  fellows  hangin'  around  Wilkins' 
shoe-factory  to-day,  I  guess.  This  is  the  fourth  week  since 
they  struck,  and  my  old  woman  says  they're  playing  to  hard 
luck,  some  of  'em." 

The  speaker  was  one  of  a  crowd  of  working-men  seated  on  a 
lumber-pile  in  front  of  the  Empire  Mills.  It  was  twelve  o'clock, 
and  most  of  them  had  lunch-cans  open,  from  which  they 
brought  forth  as  many  curious-looking  things  in  the  way  of 
eatables  as  are  produced  from  a  conjuror's  marvellous  hat. 
There  was  the  sound  of  champing  teeth  and  the  gurgle  of 
flowing  coffee  and  tea  in  the  air. 

"  Wilkins'  ain't  the  only  shoe-shop  closed,"  said  a  man  with 
a  beard  almost  up  to  his  eyes,  who  spoke  with  difficulty,  having 
just  put  a  tea-biscuit  into  his  mouth.  ' '  The  city  shop  closed 
yesterday,  and  there  ain't  no  knowin'  when  they're  goin'  to 
open  agen.  It's  my  opinion,  from  all  I  hear,  that  the  Union'll 
shut  'em  all  up.  That'll  bring  the  capitalists  down  on  their 
marrows;  "  and  he  took  a  copious  draught  of  cold  coffee,  and 
sighed.  "That'll  make  'em  whistle  kind  'o  small,  eh,  Sker- 
ritt? "  to  the  young  man. 

"  Perhaps  the  strikers'll  whistle  small  too,  Jim,"  said  a  young 
man  in  a  clean  blue  jumper  and  brown  overalls,  who  sat  on  the 
top  of  the  board-pile,  a  bright-faced  fellow  with  sandy  hair  and 
pale-blue  eyes.  "If  you've  ever  been  in  a  strike,  you'll  know 
it  ain't  much  fun.  For  my  part,  I  don't  see  niuch  use  of  'em 
anyway.  Seems  to  me  the  working-men  always  gets  the  worst 
of  it." 

"Oh,  you  think  so,  do  you?"  said  the  man  with  the  beard. 
"Well,  mebbe  they  does,  and  mebbe  they  doesn't.  Anyway, 
it  makes  these  here  moneyed  chaps  learn  that  there's  power  in 
the  poor.  It  reminds  them  of  the  power  of  the  people — that 

79 


80  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

we  has  laws  they  are  bound  for  to  respect,"  falling  to  on  a 
pickle,  well  satisfied  with  his  eloquence. 

"You  vos  right,  Shim,"  said  a  greasy -looking  man  at  his 
elbow,  with  a  double  chin  and  black,  vicious-looking  eyes, 
who  was  eating  a  sausage  in  wild  animal  fashion.  "Off  dey 
vould  stir  tings  oup  here  mit  a  shtrike,  I  dink  it  would  do  us 
all  goot.  It  would  bring  dot  tarn  gapitalist  mit  his  senses  so 
quick  vot  nefer  vos." 

"  Oh,  your're  a  foreigner,  Julius,"  said  the  young  man  in  the 
jumper.  "You  don't  understand  them  things  at  all.  We 
don't  want  no  Nihilism  or  whatever  you  call  it  introduced  in 
this  here  country.  The  Brotherhood  of  Labor  '11  do  all  for  us 
that  we  wants,  and  by  square  means." 

"Oh,  is  dot  so?"  sneered  the  apostle  of  fire  and  blood. 
"You  like  dose  laws,  I  expose,  vot  your  rich  mens  make  for 
himself,  eh?  You  like  every  tings  closed  auf  Sunday,  dose  gal- 
leries unt  museums,  on  de  only  day  vot  verkingmens  can  get 
about?  You  like  to  get  shtamped  auf  your  neck  by  the  iron 
heels  off  a  decrayted  civilization?"  with  an  impassioned 
gesture. 

"Come  off,  Dutchy,"  irreverently  shouted  some  of  the 
younger  men  in  the  group. 

"Come  off,  you  say?"  asked  the  German  angrily.  "  A  nice 
set  of  fellows  you  vos.  Afraid  mit  your  own  skins  for  fear  you 
get  bounced  by  de  boss  for  sayin1  vot  you  tinks.  Look  at  dose 
fellers  down-town.  Vot  you  tink  of,  dem,  eh?  Votyoutinkof 
dem?  Dey  don't  get  fair  wages,  unt  out  dey  valks  auf  der 
shops,  to  show  dere  employers  dot  dey  don't  care  a  tamn  by 
dem.  Veil,  pooty  soon,  dose  employers  dey  find  dey  make 
no  monish  until  dey  get  down  unt  crawl  unt  beg  dose  beauti- 
ful verking-men  off  dey  vouldn't  come  back.  Oh,  it  vos  nice 
ven  you  make  a  gapitalist  do  shust  vot  you  vant.  Vot  I  say 
is,  if  you  don't  like  de  laws,  vy,  do  away  vid  'em." 

"  We  may  have  to  fall  in  line  with  the  rest  of  the  strikers, 
Dutch,"  said  Joe  Skerritt.  "  I  ain't  heard  what  they're  goin' 
to  do  about  Connors  bein'  discharged." 

"  That  was  a  shame,"  said  the  man  with  the  beard.  "They 
fired  Jim  Connors  for  no  reason  at  all,  and  put  this  here  dude 
Brent  in  his  place,  who  looks  as  if  he  never  done  a  day's  work 
in  bis  life,  I  hear  he's  one  o'  the  stockholders  of  the  mills,  and 


THE  SUPERINTENDENT  OF  THE  EMPIRE  MILLS.     81 

that's  the  reason  he's  got  the  job.  The  idee  o'  puttin'  a  regular 
swell  for  a  boss  over  us  fellows.  It's  a  downright  insult,  that's 
what  it  is,  gotten  up  by  old  Mother  Tillinghurst.  I  suppose 
Brent  don't  get  no  salary,  so  they  keep  him." 

"  Off  I  had  my  vay,"  said  the  socialist,  ''I  vould  take  dot 
boss  out  some  fine  evening  und  put  him  under  dot  pump.  My. 
vot  fun ! " 

"Well,  if  you  was  to  try  anything  like  that,  Dutch,  you 
would  stand  mighty  liable  to  get  your  head  punched,"  said 
Joe  Skerritt,  cutting  off  a  block  of  cheese  from  the  hunk  in  his 
hand,  and  stowing  it  away  in  his  mouth.  "  Brent  ain't  none 
the  worse  for  it  if  he  does  take  a  notion  to  dress  well  and  wear 
clean  linen,  as  I  can  see.  We  ain't  never  had  no  fairer  super- 
intendent since  I  been  here,  and  I,  for  one,  am  going  to  stand 
by  him."  His  remarks  were  received  with  approval  by  the 
crowd.  "  I  tell  you  what,  boys,  made  me  take  such  a  fancy  to 
this  swell.  I  found  out  it  was  him  that  had  the  pay  raised 
twenty  per  cent  for  all  over-time  work.  I'd  like  to  know  if 
that  ain't  the  fair  thing  in  the  man?  " 

"  He's  got  a  great  pull  down  yonder,"  said  the  man  with  the 
beard,  pointing  his  thumb  over  his  shoulder.  "And  money! 
well,  I  hear  he  has  pretty  near  as  much  as  old  money-bags." 

"Dot's  all  right,"  said  Heckelmann.  "He  got  dose  pay 
raised  pecause  he  had  to  do  sometings  ven  he  first  came  in  de 
mills  dot  vould  make  him  solid  vid  the  men.  He  vas  a  shly 
dog,  and  don't  you  forget  it.  He  vill  make  dot  money  up  out 
of  our  shkins  some  tay,  now  you  shust  vait  and  see." 

"That's  just  like  you,  Julius,"  said  Joe  Skerritt.  "If  you 
can't  croak  about  somethin'  to-day,  you  growl  about  somethin' 
that's  goin'  to  happen  to-morrow.  You're  a  regular  old  kicker ; 
s'pose  you  dry  up? " 

"Veil,  veil,  I  don't  vant  to  quarrel  mit  you,  Joe;  but  you 
vos  all  wrong,  as  you  vill  find  out  some  tay ; "  shutting  his 
dinner-pail  with  a  savage  click.  "I  used  to  get  took  in  by 
dese  aristocrats,  but  I  don't  any  more.  Oh,  I  know  too 
much." 

"  You  do,  do  you?  "  said  Joe,  in  banter.  "  But  there's  the 
bell,  boys;  time's  up,"  as  the  bell  in  the  tower  of  the  mill  rang 
out  sharply. 

There  was  a  sudden  closing  of  lunch-cans,  putting  on  of 


82  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES, 

coats,  a  few  yawns,  and  then  the  crowd  shuffled  into  the  door 
of  the  factory,  and  separated  to  their  various  tasks. 

John  Brent  had  found  the  position  of  superintendent  of  the 
Empire  Mills  anything  but  a  sinecure.  But  he  was  a  much 
happier  man  since  he  had  taken  the  position  and  seemed  to 
get  on  fairly  well  with  the  men. 

Captain  Shrike  was  very  much  pleased  Avith  the  new  turn  of 
affairs.  In  the  move  his  protege  had  taken  alone  and  of  his 
own  accord,  he  saw  more  promise  for  the  future  success  of  his 
plans. 

Brent  found  that  his  position  gave  him  frequent  opportuni- 
ties to  call  at  Mr.  Tillinghurst's  house  in  the  evening,  to  talk 
over  plans  for  operating  the  mills.  It  was  natural  that  he 
should  meet  Marcia  very  often,  and  not  infrequently  she 
joined  in  the  conversation,  for  Mr.  Tillinghurst,  who  believed 
her  to  be  one  of  the  most  intelligent  women  in  the  world,  was 
always  glad  to  get  her  views,  even  on  business. 

Brent  had  been  at  first  a  little  shy  in  the  presence  of  this 
cold,  stately  young  woman,  whose  eyes  seemed  to  read  his 
character  at  a  glance.  He  was  a  little  bit  afraid  of  her  until 
the  ice  had  been  fairly  broken  between  them,  and  his  visits  to 
the  house  on  Fifth  Avenue  became  more  constant. 

Soon  he  began  to  look  forward  to  these  calls  with  pleasure,  and 
he  made  every  excuse  to  prolong  them  when  he  arrived.  To 
tell  the  truth,  father  and  daughter  were  both  glad  to  see  him, 
for  neither  liked  the  bustle  and  hurry  of  society,  and  much 
preferred  the  placid  pleasures  of  home-life,  and  an  evening 
spent  with  a  congenial  friend. 

So  Brent  became  a  welcome  guest  at  the  millionaire's  house, 
and  though  he  very  seldom  saw  Marcia  except  in  her  father's 
presence,  a  bond  of  friendship  was  established  between  them, 
and  they  began  to  understand  each  other  thoroughly. 

Mr.  Tillinghurst,  if  he  noticed  at  all  the  danger  in  which  he 
had  placed  his  daughter  in  allowing  a  young  man  to  visit  the 
house  so  often,  at  least  kept  his  own  counsel  and  said  nothing. 
When,  by  slow  degrees,  Brent  became  more  interested  in 
Marcia,  he  felt  a  burdening  sense  of  the  shame  of  his  posi- 
tion. It  stung  him  to  think  that  he  had  ever  bargained  with 
Captain  Shrike  to  win  her.  He  was  glad  that  he  had  so 
much  work  on  hand  which  would  prevent  him  from  thinking 


THE  SUPERINTENDENT  OF  THE  EMPIRE  MILLS.     83 

too  much  of  the  unmanly  part  he  had  to  play  in  that  social 
comedy. 

To  men  in  business-life  there  was  plenty  to  think  of  and  worry 
about.  The  troubled  condition  of  the  labor  market  bothered 
the  millionaire  a  great  deal.  The  number  of  strikers  in  and 
around  the  city  was  increasing  daily,  and  already  he  had  been 
compelled  to  close  the  Goshen  Refinery  at  Hunter's  Point.  It 
was  only  a  question  of  time,  he  felt,  before  the  Empire  Mills 
would  follow ;  and  he  was  therefore  making  haste  to  dispose 
of  his  stocks,  in  order  that  he  might  be  ready  for  the  crisis 
which  was  sure  to  come. 

In  business  circles  the  all-absorbing  topic  of  the  day  was  the 
labor  agitation.  The  commercial  world  trembled  at  every 
rumor  of  a  social  revolution.  The  danger  of  a  panic  on  Wall 
Street  was  imminent. 

John  Tillinghurst  went  about  among  his  friends  and  in  the 
business  world  with  a  genial  smile  on  his  face,  and  laughed 
down  their  fears  of  impending  danger.  Other  capitalists  of 
the  city  were  equally  anxious  that  the  public  confidence 
should  be  restored,  and  banded  themselves  together  to  resist 
the  encroachments  of  the  strikers,  whom  they  resolved  to 
starve  into  submission. 

By  spending  millions  they  succeeded  in  settling  many 
troubles  in  the  labor  camp,  and  for  a  while  it  looked  as  if  the 
stream  of  commerce  was  again  to  flow  placidly  on  its  way. 
Tillinghurst,  who  had  been  studying  the  matter,  knew  better. 
It  was  the  rumble  of  the  earthquake  beneath  his  feet  that  he 
heard.  The  red  hand  of  Socialism  was  lifted  against  the  city, 
waving  a  torch  of  fire. 

Mr.  Tillinghurst  spent  several  hours  in  the  week  now,  con 
suiting  with  John  Brent  at  the  Empire  Mills.  The  older  man 
was  for  being  firm  in  resisting  the  workingmen's  demands, 
while  the  younger  urged  moderation.  It  was  therefore 
natural  that  they  frequently  clashed,  but  Brent  generally  got 
what  he  wanted,  for  Marcia,  who  often  took  part  in  their 
deliberations  at  home,  always  threw  her  influence  in  the 
balance  in  favor  of  the  employes. 

One  day,  Mr.  Tillinghurst  came,  in  great  excitement,  into 
the  superintendent's  office,  where  Brent  was  seated  writing. 

"What  do  you  think  ? "  he  gasped,  sinking  into  a  chair,  his 


§4  A  SLA  VE  OF  Clll C I'M -S  'l\  1  -V  C E8. 

face  purple  with  rage,  as  he  waved  a  newspaper  wildly  to  and 
fro  over  his  head.  ' '  Those  damned  strikers  have  burnt  my 
mill  down  at  Hunter's  Point." 

"  But  it  was  insured? "  asked  Brent. 

"Not  a  cent.  The  insurance  ran  out  yesterday,  and  I  was 
about  to  renew  it  to-day.  The  devils!  they  must  have  got 
wind  of  how  things  stood,  and  just  laid  for  me;''  and  Mr.  Til- 
linghurst  groaned  and  stamped  his  feet  with  impotent  rage. 

"And  will  you  rebuild?  " 

"Never,  never!  I'll  never  put  up  a  brick.  There's  two 
hundred  thousand  dollars  gone,  if  there  is  a  cent,  not  counting 
what  I  lost  on  the  strike.  Did  you  ever  know  of  such  con- 
founded fools  as  these  men  are  ?  They  were  well  enough 
satisfied  with  their  wages,  but  wanted  me  to  discharge  a  fore- 
man who  had  served  me  well  for  ten  years,  and  I  naturally 
refused  to  do  it.  So  they  struck.  Ah,  I  know  what  you  are 
going  to  say,"  as  Brent  wras  about  to  speak.  "  You  are  going 
to  tell  me  that  I  can  afford  to  lose  that  factory.  Well,  I  sup- 
pose I  shan't  go  broke  if  every  building  I  own  is  burnt  to  the 
ground  •,  but  to  have  these  confounded  hounds  that  I  have  fed 
and  clothed  all  these  years  destroying  my  property,  why — 
why,  it  makes  me  tearing  mad,  that's  all ;  "  and  he  walked  up 
and  down  the  room,  fuming,  and  mopping  his  face  with  his 
huge  silk  handkerchief.  ' '  How's  everything  going  on  here  ? " 
he  said,  pausing  in  front  of  Brent's  desk. 

"  No  sign  of  trouble  yet,  that  I  can  see." 

"  The  men  seem  to  take  to  you  kindly  enough.  I  was  kind 
of  afraid  they  might  kick  when  I  removed  one  of  their  kind 
and  put  you  in."  He  had  calmed  down,  and  was  talking  as  if 
nothing  had  happened  to  ruffle  his  temper. 

"Oh,  yes,  we  get  on  very  well  together,"  said  Brent.  "I 
try  to  treat  them  well,  and  I  think  they  rather  like  me.  We 
have  a  foreign  element  here,  however,  that  try  to  stir  up 
mischief.  I've  had  to  reprove  several  of  them  for  expressing 
their  socialistic  views  in  working-hours." 

"You  want  to  weed  all  such  chaps  out.  They  are  at  the 
bottom  of  the  trouble,  depend  on  it.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  a 
confounded  Eussian,  with  a  smooth  tongue,  who  went  about 
the  gin-mills  lecturing  to  my  men,  why,  the  Goshen  Refinery 
would  be  standing  now,"  with  regret.  "  I  don't  see  the  use  of 


THE  SUPERINTENDENT  OF  THE  EMPIRE  MILLS.     85 

these  Unions  anyway.  I  got  along  very  well  without  'em, 
and  I  don't  see  why  anybody  else  shouldn't.  It's  all  bosh 
that  they  do  any  good.  The  '  Brotherhood  of  Labor '  is  a 
humbug." 

' '  Would  you  like  to  take  a  look  through  the  mills  ? "  asked 
Brent,  reaching  for  his  coat. 

"Yes;  I  think  it  stirs  'em  up  to  think  that  I'm  still  on  the 
look-out." 

They  left  the  office  and  crossed  the  courtyard,  entering  the 
main  room  of  the  mill,  where  the  machines  were  sending  up 
clouds  of  white  dust  in  showers  that  settled  on  everything, 
like  snow.  The  men,  covered  by  this,  looked  like  pallid  spec- 
tres, as  they  moved  to  and  fro  about  their  work,  with  slip 
pered  feet  that  made  no  sound  as  they  walked. 

"There's  no  better  flour  than  that  in  the  country,"  said  Mr. 
Tillinghurst,  stopping  to  scoop  up  some  from  a  half-filled 
barrel  by  one  of  the  machines,  allowing  it  to  filter  slowly 
through  his  fingers.  Then,  turning  to  Brent,  he  said,  in  a  low 
voice,  "What  a  tough-looking  foreigner  that  is,  feeding  that 
machine,"  as  the  scowling  face  of  the  German  socialist  was 
seen  above  the  feeder.  "  Who  is  he,  anyway  ?" 

"That's  Heckelmann.  He's  a  good  workman,  but  I  have 
had  some  trouble  with  him.  You  see,  he  lets  his  tongue  get 
the  best  of  his  brain  sometimes." 

"  Well,  don't  keep  anybody  on  a  minute  if  you  think  they 
are  going  to  stir  up  a  fuss.  The  time  has  come  for  decisive 
action.  If  you  show  these  fellows  that  you  are  afraid  of 
them,  why,  they  will  walk  all  over  you.  Fire  out  the  malcon- 
tents, and  the  others  will  go  on  all  right.  I  tell  you  what  I 
think  you  had  better  do,  Brent.  Get  a  placard"  announcing 
that,  in  case  of  a  strike,  no  one  will  be  taken  back  to  work  in 
the  mills.  It  might  stave  off  the  trouble  if  any  of  'em  were 
thinking  about  such  a  thing." 

"I  rather  think  it  would,  hasten  the  catastrophe,"  said 
Brent,  quietly. 

"  Ah,  well,  perhaps  you  know  best;  but  if  I  hadn't  used  so 
much  moderation  in  the  past  towards  my  men,  why,  I'd  be  a 
good  bit  better  off  to-day.  But  who's  that  chap  over  there 
with  the  sandy  hair?  He  looks  like  a  bright  one." 

"  He  is  one  of  the  best  in  the  mills.    That's  Joe  Skerritt." 


86  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

"  Hum!  nice,  honest  face;  but  you  can't  trust  any  of  'em," 
as  he  walked  on  to  the  door  again.  "  I  don't  see,"  added  Mr. 
Tillinghurst,  as  he  paused  on  the  threshold,  ' '  but  that  things 
are  going  very  smooth  here.  You  know  the  south  end  of  the 
city  is  a  good  bit  sfcrred  up,  and  half  the  industries  are  at  a 
standstill.  Perhaps  we  may  escape  the  trouble  altogether." 

"Well,  I  hope  so,"  said  Brent,  heartily,  "both  on  your 
account  and  the  men's." 

"There  you  go  again  with  your  sj7mpathy  for  the  men," 
with  a  smile.  "I  half  believe  you're  a  socialist  yourself," 
poking  at  him  playfully  with  a  pudgy  finger. 

"  Well,  if  I  am,  I  shall  not  strike,"  said  Brent. 

"By  the  way,  you  didn't  get  around  last  night.  Marsh  ex- 
pected you,  too.  Come  around  early  and  take  dinner ;  I  ex- 
pect Shrike  will  be  there,  that's  all.  My  cook  has  got  up  a 
surprise  dish  which  he  promises  to  be  something  remarkable ; 
but  I  don't  want  to  get  your  hopes  up.  You'll  come,  though?  " 

"With  pleasure,  but  I  may  be  a  little  late." 

"  Oh,  well,  we'll  give  you  until  seven.  But,"  pausing,  while 
his  face  suddenly  became  grave  and  changed,  ' '  you  told  me 
you  used  to  work  in  a  flour-mill  at  St.  Louis." 

"Yes,  that  was  about  five  years  ago." 

"I  used  to  know  a  family  of  your  name  living  in  Detroit, 
and  I  was  trying  to  establish  a  relationship." 

"I  have  no  relations  living,"  said  Brent,  his  face  a  little 
flushed  at  the  peculiar  questions.  "  What  the  devil  is  he  driv- 
ing at?"  he  said,  under  his  breath,  watching  Mr.  Tillinghurst 
curiously. 

"  I  was  travelling  through  Illinois  in  1879,"  said  the  broker; 
"had  a  horse  and  carriage,  and  was  taking  things  easy. 
Beautiful  scenery  in  the  northern  part  of  the  State." 

"Yes,  yes;  so  I've  been  told." 

"  Perhaps  the  most  beautiful  town  I  came  across  was  a  little 
place  called  Carter's  Ford,"  eyeing  Brent  out  of  the  corner  of 
his  eye,  who  started  visibly.  "But  I  must  be  getting  down- 
town, "as  he  shook  hands  and  walked  across  the  courtyard, 
with  his  eyes  thoughtfully  bent  on  the  ground. 

"  Can  he  suspect  who  I  am? "  was  the  question  John  Tilling- 
hurst was  asking  himself  in  his  heart,  "or  is  this  merely  a 
coincidence? "  He  sighed  as  he  stepped  into  the  carriage,  and 


THE  SUPERINTENDENT  OF  THE  EMPIRE  MILLS.     87 

bade  the  driver  hurry  home.    He  was  not  altogether  satisfied 
with  the  result  of  his  visit. 

In  his  arm-chair  in  the  superintendent's  office,  John  Brent 
watched  the  departure.  "I  wonder  why  he  mentioned  Car- 
ter's Ford?"  he  asked  himself.  "Was  it  a  warning  that  he 
knows  that  I  am  sailing  under  false  colors?  Is  Shrike  playing 
a  double  game? "  he  sighed,  as  he  thought  of  Marcia. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

CAPTAIN  SHRIKE  BECOMES   CONFIDENTIAL. 

"CAPTAIN  SHRIKE,  you  know  everyone;  tell  me  who  that 
very  distinguished-looking  man  is,  speaking  to  Marcia  Tilling- 
hurst.  Bless  me !  but  he  looks  as  if  he  were  going  to  eat  her. 
Who  is  he? " 

"That,"  said  the  captain,  slowly  adjusting  his  eyeglass; 
"why,  my  dear  Mrs.  Meacham,  that  is  John  Brent." 

''  Well,"  said  the  lady,  adjusting  a  lemon-colored  curl  over  a 
wrinkle  on  her  forehead,  "  well,  I  never  heard  of  him  before." 

"And  you  pretend  to  be  a  society  woman,  "  sighed  the  cap- 
tain, compassionately.  "Why,  that  young  man  has  been  the 
subject  of  more  discussion  than  any  one  since  Pugthorpe  ran 
away  with  his  cook.  My  dear  madam,  have  you  been  winter- 
ing in  Morristown? " 

Mrs.  Meacham  laughed  shrilly. 

"  They  seem  to  be  very  much  interested  in  each  other,"  said 
she,  looking  across  the  expanse  of  glistening  bald  heads  and 
yellow  curls  in  front  of  them,  to  the  couple  in  the  corner;  "a 
spring  wedding  will  follow,  eh?  " 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  said  Shrike,  a  little  savagely. 
"How  could  you  imagine  such  a  thing?  She  has  money, 
beauty,  accomplishments;  while  he " 

"Well?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  anything  against  the  young  man,"  the 
captain  hastened  to  say.  "You  see,  I  introduced  him  into  the 
best  society  here,  got  him  into  the  clubs,  you  know,  and  gave 
him  the  fling  of  the  town — of  course  I  must  stand  by  him. 
But  he's  not  the  same  fellow  he  was  once.  Had  too  much 
adulation  of  late;  it  has  spoilt  him,"  and  the  captain  cast  a 
stealthy  glance  over  at  the  object  of  the  conversation. 

"Not  dissipated,  I  hope?"  said  Mrs.  Meacham,  shrugging 
her  white  shoulders. 

"Well,  you  know  what  young  men  are.  Go  out,  you  know, 

88 


CAPTAIN  SllRIKE  BECOMES  CONFIDENTIAL.  89 

with  the  boys,  and — well,  if  they  are  at  all  weak,  why  they 
run  down-hill  pretty  fast." 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Meacham,  and  then  drifted  into  another 
subject.  ' '  By  the  way,  there  is  Mrs.  Wixon ;  have  you  read 
her  new  novel  on  Russian  life?  It's  perfectly  delightful,  called 
'  the  Countess  ' — '  the  Countess  ' — oh,  its  some  horribly  long 
Russian  name  that  I  can't  remember  just  now.  The  hero  is 
a  serf  who  falls  in  love  with  the  countess,  and  she  with  him, 
and  then  the  count,  he  kills  them  both,  and  they  die  in  each 
other's  arms  in  the  most  delightful  way.  Why,  Captain,  you 
ought  to  read  it. " 

"Yes,  from  your  description  I  know  I  should  like  it,"  said 
the  captain  dryly. 

The  rooms  were  beginning  to  fill  up.  Mrs.  Smithsonia 
Wixon  only  gave  four  receptions  during  the  year,  and,  in 
theatrical  parlance,  she  "  always  drew  a  crowd."  You  met  all 
sorts  of  people  in  her  drawing-rooms.  The  social  strata  be- 
came inextricably  mixed.  Murray  Hill  jostled  West  Four- 
teenth Street,  and  nearly  everyone  present  was  celebrated  or 
notorious  for  something  literary,  artistic,  or  scientific.  Most 
of  the  men  had  long  hair  and  short  names,  and  most  of  the 
women  short  hair  and  long  names. 

The  babel  of  voices  blended  into  a  hoarse  roar.  Everyone 
seemed  talking  at  once,  and  talking  fast.  Scraps  of  conversa- 
tion welled  up  from  the  surging  sea  of  silks  and  laces  and 
broadcloth. 

Mrs.  Wixon  stood  at  the  head  of  the  room,  by  the  door,  and 
spoke  to  everyone  by  a  wrong  name  as  each  new  arrival  came 
in.  At  her  side  stood  Mrs.  Wellington  Brasher,  the  distin- 
guished Western  poetess,  dressed  in  a  sea-green  silk,  trimmed 
with  worsted  lace,  looped  up  with  sea-shells  in  the  form  of 
buckles.  She  affected  short  curls,  talked  with  a  lisp,  and  gen- 
ei^ally  carried  in  her  bosom  the  manuscript  of  a  poem,  which 
she  was  willing  to  recite  on  the  smallest  provocation. 

Mrs.  Brasher  was  a  fine  business  woman,  and  appreciated 
the  power  of  the  press.  If  she  knew  there  were  many  news- 
paper-men around,  she  was  sure  to  commit  some  eccentricity, 
in  order  to  get  her  name  in  the  papers.  She  never  lost  a 
chance  to  get  a  free  advertisement,  even  if  it  came  to  endors- 
ing a  patent  soap  or  face-powder, 


90  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

On  the  night  in  question  she  had  succeeded  in  gaining  the 
ears  of  two  reporters,  who  had  promised  to  write  articles  about 
her  visit  to  the  morgue  the  day  before ;  so  she  was  radiant. 
She  had  cultivated  a  smile  which  had  won  her  many  friends, 
and  she  was  using  it  to  advantage.  It  was  a  sort  of  confiden- 
tial smile,  that  took  especially  well  with  the  men.  It  seemed 
to  say,  ' '  You  are  the  one  I  have  been  waiting  to  see ;  I  am 
happy  knowing  you  are  here." 

Shrike,  who  had  been  studying  the  crowd  for  some  time, 
particularly  John  Brent  and  his  companion,  turned  again  to 
Mrs.  Meacham. 

"By  the  way,"  he  asked,  with  his  peculiar  drawl,  "who  is 
that  fat  man  over  there,  with  his  hair  in  his  eyes  like  a  Scotch 
terrier,  and  the  decollete  collar? " 

"That,"  said  the  little  lady,  adjusting  her  glasses  to  her 
eyes,  "  is  Watkins  Mudge,  the  distinguished  artist,  who  made 
money  by  going  off  and  dying." 

"  Dying !  "  echoed  the  captain.  "Why,  you  alarm  me.  How 
can  a  man  make  money  by  going  and  dying?  Insurance? " 

"Oh,  of  course  I  don't  mean  that  the  man  really  died  and 
was  buried.  Dear,  no!  He  was  very  unsuccessful,  starving, 
in  fact,  and  lived  in  a  little  tumble-down  house  near  High 
Bridge,  furnished  with  nothing  but  the  pictures  he  had  painted 
and  couldn't  sell.  He  had  a  wife  and  no  end  of  children. 
General  misery  all  around.  He  made  up  his  mind  one  night 
that  he  would  commit  suicide.  Jumped  into  the  East  River, 
but  found  the  water  too  cold,  and  swam  ashore.  He  was 
ashamed  to  go  home  and  be  laughed  at,  so  he  spent  a  week  in 
a  Brooklyn  boarding-house.  When  he  did  get  back,  he  found 
that  the  news  of  his  death  had  brought  hundreds  to  see  his 
house,  and  that  his  wife,  like  a  prudent  woman,  had  disposed 
of  every  picture  he  had  stored  away,  at  a  high  figure.  He  is 
all  the  fashion  now,  and  rolls  in  his  own  carriage." 

"Dear  me!  "  said  the  captain,  tugging  at  his  whiskers;  "I 
wonder  why  half  the  people  here  to-night  are  not  tempted  to 
try  the  same  experiment." 

"  Oh,  they  have,"  said  Mrs.  Meacham.  "A  good  many  have 
tried  it  since,  but  it  won't  work.  But  here  comes  Mr.  Tilling- 
hurst  heading  towards  us;  let  me  escape  him  while  I  can;" 
and  the  little  woman  wriggled  dexterously  through  the  wail 


CAPTAIN  SHRIKE  BECOMES  CONFIDENTIAL.         91 

of  dowagers  in  front  of  them,  just  as  the  portly  form  of  the 
broker  was  seen  tossing  in  a  sea  of  silk,  very  red  in  the  face 
and  puffing  like  a  tug-boat,  until  a  friendly  tide  floated  him 
up  to  the  wall  where  Captain  Shrike  stood. 

Mr.  Tillinghurst  could  not  speak  for  several  moments,  but 
stood  panting  and  mopping  his  great  forehead  with  a  scarlet 
handkerchief  that  almost  matched  his  face  in  tint.  His  rotund 
form  was  encased  in  a  tight-fitting  dress  suit  of  such  shiny 
broadcloth  that  the  broker  looked  as  if  he  had  been  freshly 
oiled  from  head  to  foot  for  the  occasion.  On  his  ample  shirt- 
bosom  a  diamond  as  large  as  a  hickory  nut  sent  forth  sparks 
of  fire. 

"Hello,  Shrike,"  he  said,  familiarly,  still  rubbing  his  great 
fat  cheeks  and  puffing  hoarsely;  "did  you  ever  see  such  a 
gang  as  this?  I'm  not  much  on  literary  people  anyway,  but 
Marcia  would  bring  me  here.  I  was  for  going  to  Dixon's  to- 
night. You  know  Jim  Dixon?  Splendid  fellow!  Head  of  the 
white-goods  department  at  Pilkins  &  Co." 

"The  what  department?"  asked  the  captain,  coldly. 

"The  white  goods,  muslins,  etc." 

"  Oh,  you  mean  he  is  in  trade? "  with  a  little  scorn. 

"  Yes,  and  devilish  good  trade,  I  should  say.  Ten  thousand 
a  year  and  an  interest  in  the  business." 

''  You  wouldn't  think  that  was  much,  now,  Tillinghurst, 
would  you?  "  asked  the  captain  cautiously. 

"Well,  no,"  with  a  laugh,  "  I  don't  suppose  I  would;  but  I 
remember  when  I  was  worth  only  $500,  and  I  was  never  hap- 
pier in  all  my  life.  People  say  I've  added  four  naughts  to 
that  figure  since,"  chuckling,  "  and  I  guess  they  ain't  very  far 
off." 

"Your  daughter  will  be  quite  an  heiress." 

"  Well,  I  don't  believe  she'll  have  to  come  on  her  relations  if 
I  die  to-morrow.  It's  a  peck  of  money  to  leave  to  a  little  mite 
of  a  girl  like  that,  just  turned  twenty." 

"  But  she  may  marry  before  you  are  ready  to  leave  it." 

"Well,  that's  it.  I'd  die  a  good  bit  happier  if  I  knew  she 
was  comfortably  fixed  for  life.  I  don't  want  a  knock-kneed 
chap,  with  nuthin'  but  a  pair  of  smart-looking  whiskers  and  a 
soft  voice,  to  walk  oft:  with  all  the  money  I  doubled  myself  up 
getting." 


92  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

The  captain  laughed  softly  to  himself,  and  cast  another  look 
over  to  the  corner  where  Brent  was  sitting,  while  the  banker's 
eyes  instinctively  sought  the  same  direction. 

"  Yes,  I  was  looking  at  them,"  said  the  banker,  meditatively, 
as  if  he  had  been  addressed. 

"Them?" 

"Yes,  Marcia  and  young  Brent;  and  I  don't  half  like  it 
either,"  with  a  rumble  in  his  throat.  "  See  here,  Shrike;  you 
introduced  that  young  man  into  my  house,  and  vouched  for 
him,  or  rather  you  said  he  was  all  right. " 

"Well,  what  is  the  matter  with  him?"  interrupted  the 
other,  a  little  irritably. 

"I  don't  object  to  the  man's  looks,  and  he  acts  fair  enough, 
and  works  well  enough  when  he  has  a  mind  to,  though  I  take 
it  he's  kind  of  changeable,  from  those  restless  eyes  of  his.  But 
that  ain't  neither  here  nor  there.  I  want  to  know  something 
about  the  man  my  girl  is  going  to  take  up  with  for  life.  I'd 
like  to  see  some  of  the  back  numbers  of  his  record." 

"Why,  you  don't  think  there  is  anything  serious  between 
them? "  ventured  the  captain. 

"I  don't  think  anything,"  snapped  the  broker.  "But  he's 
been  to  our  house  three  nights  running  this  week, — on  business 
I  know ;  but  he  pays  a  good  deal  more  attention  to  her  than  to 
me.  They  meet  at  some  of  these  afternoon  teas  when  I'm  down 
town,  and — and  I  don't  exactly  know  what  to  do.  I  ain't  dis- 
posed to  be  hard  on  a  young  man  who's  trying  to  get  along  in 
the  world,  but  there  is  something  about  this  chap  that  makes 
me  suspicious." 

"Of  what?"  asked  the  captain,  quickly. 

"  Well,  that's  what  I  want  to  find  out;  that's  what  I  came 
here  to-night  to  see  you  about.  I  want  you  to  tell  me  what 
you  know  about  this  Brent.  The  best  isn't  too  good  for 
Marcia,  I  can  tell  you.  If  I  put  my  foot  down,  I'll  break  this 
affair  off  short ;  but  if  he's  all  right  he  shall  have  her.  I've 
known  you  a  good  while,  Shrike,  and  I  think  I  can  put  a  good 
deal  of  trust  in  you,  and — 

"  Hush! "  said  the  captain,  as  Marcia  and  Brent  walked  by 
them  just  at  that  moment. 

The  girl's  sweet  oval  face  was  flushed  with  a  soft  rose-color, 


CAPTAIN  SHRIKE  BECOMES  CONFIDENTIAL.         93 

and  her  eyes  were  sparkling.    Brent's  looked  weary  and  worn 
in  the  blue  light  that  the  chandelier  cast  over  them. 

Shrike  said  something  under  his  breath  as  he  bowed  to 
them,  and  then  the  crowd  swallowed  them  up.  He  took  the 
broker's  arm,  and  they  made  their  way  up-stairs  to  the  smok- 
ing-room, which  they  found  deserted  by  everyone  except  old 
Mr.  Wixon,  who  had  escaped  from  the  crowd  and  was  now 
sound  asleep  and  snoring  vociferously.  The  place  offered 
every  opportunity  for  a  quiet  talk. 

In  the  meantime  Brent  and  Marcia  had  left  the  crowded 
parlors  and  sought  refuge  in  the  embrasure  of  the  dining-room 
bow-window. 

' '  Your  father  and  Captian  Shrike  seem  to  be  holding  a  coun- 
cil-of -war  to-night, "  said  the  young  man,  seating  himself  on 
an  ottoman  at  her  side. 

"  And  you  would  rather  not  see  them  together? "  she  asked, 
studying  his  face.  "Jack,  I  am  afraid  you  are  not  very 
steadfast  in  your  friendships.  You  used  to  go  everywhere 
with  Captain  Shrike,  and  now  you  seldom  speak  to  each  other, 
that  is,  when  I  am  around.  I  don't  blame  you  for  dropping 
his  acquaintance,  because  I  don't  believe  it  will  ever  do  you 
any  good ;  but  I  am  afraid  you  are  fickle.  Tell  me  why  you 
have  quarrelled." 

Brent  hesitated.  "  It  is  a  long  story,  which  you  would  not 
understand,"  flushing  painfully  and' turning  away,  his  eyes. 
"  We — we  were  partners  in  a  business  enterprise." 

"  Oh,  I  see;  in  some  financial  trouble.  I  heard  that  you  had 
been  speculating — in  stock,  I  suppose? " 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  laughing  bitterly,  "  in  live-stock.  I  may 
as  well  tell  you,"  he  continued,  as  she  regarded  him  with 
wondering  eyes,  ' '  that  I  was  fool  enough  to  enter  into  an 
agreement  with  Captain  Shrike  when  I — when  I  first  came  to 
New  York,  an  agreement  which  I  now  find  myself  unable  to 
keep.  It  is  this  which  has  worried  me  all  along." 

The  old,  haggard  look  she  had  noticed  of  late  came  into  his 
face  as  he  turned  away,  unabled  to  meet  her  steadfast  gaze. 
He  was  in  trouble,  deep  trouble,  she  could  easily  see. 

"  Don't  tell  me  any  more, ".she  said  gently,  laying  her  hand 
softly  on  his  shoulder.  ' '  I  dare  say  you  think  me  an  officious, 
meddling  little  woman.  I  am  glad  there  is  nothing  serious 


94  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

the  matter  between  you  and  Captain  Shrike.  I  do  not  care  to 
have  him  for  a  friend,  but  I  should  fear  him  as  an  enemy, 
relentless,  unforgiving." 

"Why,  dear,  we  can  afford  to  laugh  at  him,"  said  Brent, 
looking  up  with  a  bright  expression  on  his  face.  "I  could 
never  bring  myself  quite  to  hate  him,  even  if  1  wanted  to.  I 
can  never  forget  that  it  was  through  him  I  first  met  you." 

"You  don't  believe  much  in  fate,  then?"  she  said,  with  a 
smile. 

"  Fate  is  nothing  without  opportunity,"  said  Brent. 

"  And  I  was  the  opportunity  you  embraced,  eh?"  was  the 
laughing  response.  "  But  I  am  afraid,  Jack,  we  are  losing  all 
the  entertainment,"  looking  towards  the  crowded  parlors. 
"  Miss  Murray  is  going  to  recite  '  The  Broken  Heart.'  " 

' '  But  you  don't  want  to  hear  that  again ;  I  have  heard  it  at 
least  eight  times  this  winter." 

"  And  I  not  at  all.  Does  she  give  any  advice  for  mending 
broken  hearts?  It  must  be  such  an  uncomfortable  thing  to 
carry  around.  I  am  sure  Fanny  Pixley  has  broken  hers  in 
small  bits  to  distribute  around,  for  it  seems  to  me  that  fully" 
ten  of  the  men  that  I  meet  are  in  love  with  her,  and  that  the 
others  are  about  to  become  so.  Give  me  your  arm,  Jack ;  it  is 
time  we  returned." 

"  But  why? "  he  pleaded.     "  Wait  a  few  moments  longer." 

"  We  must  not.  We — we  shall  be  talked  about.  Dear  me, 
I  am  getting  to  say  'we'  as  fluently  as  an  editor,"  smiling. 
'•  Come,  Jack,  don't  be  silly,  give  me  your  arm." 

He  drew  a  long  face,  and  rose  from  his  seat  with  a  gesture 
of  mock  despair. 

"  Now,  if  we  had  not  moved,  your  father  would  never  have 
seen  us,"  he  said,  as  the  broker's  bald  head  was  seen  bobbing 
up  and  down  like  a  cork  at  the  other  end  of  the  room. 
"We—" 

"  Well,  what  about  we?  "  she  asked  teasingly. 

"  We  never  have  an  opportunity  to  say  two  words  to  each 
other." 

Just  then,  Mrs.  Wixon  clapped  her  hands  for  silence,  as  Mrs. 
Brasher  was  going  to  read  a  poem,  so  Brent  and  Marcia  went 
back  to  their  cosy  corner  to  wait  until  it  was  over.  Little  at- 
tention did  they  pay  to  the  poem  or  to  the  enthusiatic  spouter, 


CAPTAIN  SHRIKE  BECOMES  CONFIDENTIAL.         95 

with  her  waving  arms  and  strident  voice.  They  were  think- 
ing of  something  else,  far  more  interesting  perhaps,  which 
flowed,  too,  in  a  poetic  channel — something  that  interested 
them  deeply,  those  two  who  sat  alone  in  the  soft-lit  room. 
And  as  they  must  needs  speak  in  a  whisper,  their  heads  were 
very  close  together.  Let  us  respect  their  solitude. 

An  hour  later  Captain  Shrike  was  seated  at  a  table  in  the 
cafe  of  the  Argentine  Club,  sipping  a  glass  of  absinthe.  It  was 
after  midnight,  and  the  captain  had  evidently  been  indulging 
in  several  other  strong  beverages  besides  that  opalescent 
liquid  which  shimmered  at  his  side,  for  his  eyes  looked  weak 
and  uncertain,  and  his  head  rolled  about  loosely.  He  had 
started  in  on  a  fresh  glass  when  John  Brent  entered.  The 
captain  stopped  drumming  his  white  fingers  on  the  polished 
table,  and  looked  at  him  curiously. 

"You  look  pretty  gay  to-night;  been  trying  a  game  up- 
stairs? "  he  asked. 

"  You  know  I  never  play  cards,"  said  the  other  quietly. 

"  Then  something's  put  you  in  high  feather.  Oh,  I  know; 
I  saw  you  to-night  with  the  little  Tillinghurst.  That's  it. 
Things  are  going  finely.  It  was  easy  enough  to  see  that ;"  and 
he  laughed  uproariously. 

Brent  looked  at  him  nervously.  He  was  irritated  at  the 
man's  insolence,  and  his  fingers  twitched  convulsively.  But 
he  only  said,  "  You  are  disposed  to  have  fun  with  me  to-night, 
Captain  Shrike.  Pray  leave  Miss  Tillinghurst's  name  out  of 
the  question." 

"Ah,  indeed!  ain't  I  her  friend,  and  her  father's  friend? 
Who  are  you  who  pretend  to  tell  me  when  I  shall  use  her 
name  and  when  not? "  asked  Shrike  hotly,  bringing  his  hand 
down  on  the  table  with  a  thump. 

"I'll  tell  you,"  said  Brent,  hoarsely,  in  a  whisper;  "I  am 
the  man  she  is  going  to  marry ;  the  man  she  accepted  not  an 
hour  ago,"  taking  him  by  the  arm.  "  Do  you  remember  what 
you  said  to  me  that  night  we  stood  by  the  house  in  Madison 
Square  and  she  came  down  the  steps?  Well,  it  has  all  come 
true ;  your  very  words." 

"Not  yet,"  said  Shrike,  wagging  his  head  back  and  forth 
in  a  maudlin  way.  "  Not  yet." 

"Not  yet?" 


96  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

' '  No ;  I  had  a  talk  with  Papa  Tillinghurst  this  very  night. 
He  is  rather  doubtful  of  you.  Wants  me  to  vouch  for  your 
respectability,  etc.  It  remains  with  me  whether  you  get  his 
consent  or  not." 

"  I  know  that,  Shrike;  I  know  that,"  said  the  other,  a  little 
excitedly.  "  But  you'll  say  a  good  word  for  me,  won't  you? " 

"I  will  not,"  said  the  other,  bringing  his  fist  down  on  the 
table  with  a  bang  that  sent  the  glass  into  splinters,  "not  a 
damned  word.  Fool!  Can't  you  see  that  I  love  her  my- 
self? " 


CHAPTER  XII. 

BRENT'S  CONFESSION. 

WAS  Captain  Shrike  in  earnest,  or  had  he  been  drinking  and 
made  the  statement  in  a  joke?  This  and  a  thousand  other 
questions  John  Brent  asked  himself  as  he  walked  up  and  down 
his  room  that  night.  Something,  however,  persuaded  him 
that  the  captain  meant  what  he  said ;  and  look  at  the  matter 
how  he  would,  he  could  only  see  misery  for  himself  in  the 
future. 

The  events  of  the  evening  had  completely  unnerved  him, 
and  he  was  only  adding  to  his  agitation  by  smoking  an  inde- 
finite number  of  cigarettes  as  he  walked  up  and  down  the  floor. 
To  have  learned  from  Marcia  herself  that  she  loved  him,  to 
have  had  the  cup  of  happiness  lifted  to  his  lips,  had  filled  him 
with  a  wild  ecstasy.  But  the  captain's  words  had  dashed  the 
cup  from  him,  and  he  was  helpless  to  save  himself.  He  had 
never  once  imagined  that  Captain  Shrike  might  possibly  be- 
come a  rival.  He  knew  him  to  be  an  intimate  friend  of  her 
father's,  and  was  aware  that  of  late  he  had  been  a  frequent 
caller  at  their  house ;  but  beyond  these  things  there  was  noth- 
ing in  the  captain's  manner  to  indicate  that  he  was  in  love 
with  Marcia.  It  required  no  clairvoyant  powers  for  Brent  to 
foresee  that,  unless  she  was  steadfast  to  him  through  good  and 
ill  report,  and  loved  him  with  an  umvavering  faith  which  could 
not  be  shaken,  his  happiness  was  gone.  It  would  not  take  a 
man  like  the  captain  very  long  to  tear  down  the  airy  castle 
which  he  had  built  for  his  protege,  and  send  him  out  into 
the  world  again,  branded  as  a  fraud  and  a  humbug,  while  he 
himself  stepped  into  the  niche  left  vacant. 

Brent  could  imagine  the  delight  there  would  be  in  certain 
circles  when  the  truth  became  known.  How  the  society 
papers  would  jeer  at  him,  and  hint  that  they  knew  of  the  hum- 
bug all  along,  and  that  it  was  another  warning  that  New  York 
circles  should  heed,  and  stop  taking  up  nobodies  without  pro- 
7  '  97 


98  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

per  investigation !  It  made  Brent  writhe  when  he  thought  of 
Marcia,  Could  she  trust  him  after  his  deceit?  He  hardly 
dared  flatter  himself  that  she  could,  and  yet  it  was  the  only 
slender  straw  he  had  to  cling  to.  He  resolved  that  he  would 
tell  Marcia  everything  the  next  night. 

The  gray  morning  was  creeping  in  through  the  half-open 
shutters  before  he  thought  of  sleep,  and  when  the  breakfast- 
bell  rang  he  was  still  staring  aimlessly  at  the  ceiling,  trying  to 
realize  his  condition. 

He  went  through  his  work  at  the  mill  mechanically  that 
day.  and  was  harsher  than  ever  with  the  men.  He  was  glad 
when  it  was  all  over,  and  he  had  a  chance  to  slip  out  and 
away  from  the  clatter  of  the  machines  and  the  rough  voices 
about  him,  and  be  alone.  He  wanted  to  nerve  himself  up  to 
the  point  so  that  he  could  tell  her  all  that  evening.  He  wanted 
to  receive  his  sentence  and  be  done  with  suspense.  Shrike,  he 
knew,  would  make  the  worst  of  the  story  if  it  was  left  to  him 
to  tell.  Brent  resolved  to  forestall  him.  How  wearily  the 
hours  crept  by  until  it  was  time  to  go !  And  yet  he  went  by 
the  house  several  times  before  he  dared  enter.  Marcia  re- 
ceived him  in  the  little  library  that  her  father  had  arranged 
for  her  in  the  second  story,  where  she  spent  most  of  her  time 
reading  and  writing.  She  was  deep  in  a  book  when  he  entered, 
and  looked  up  with  a  pleased  expression  of  surprise,  that 
brought  a  bright  blush  to  her  cheek.  He  stood  for  some 
moments  regarding  her,  thinking  what  a  pretty  picture  she 
made  in  her  white-cashmere  watteau  dress,  trimmed  with  old 
lace,  the  only  color  being  in  her  cheeks  and  in  a  rose  half  hid- 
den in  the  lace  at  her  breast,  her  shapely  head  half  thrown 
back,  a  smile  of  welcome  on  her  lips.  He  looked  at  her,  and 
half  a  sigh  escaped  him. 

"  What  does  that  sigh  mean,  sir? "  she  asked. 

He  had  advanced  as  if  he  wanted  to  kiss  her ;  then  he  hesi- 
tated and  sat  down. 

"That  sigh,"  he  said,  "  was  a  sigh  of  satisfaction  at  being 
here,  at  seeing  you." 

"  You  don't  say  that  as  if  you  meant  it,  Jack,  dear,"  with  a 
certain  sense  of  proprietorship  in  her  voice ;  ' '  and  I  should 
say  by  the  tired  look  in  your  eyes  that  you  were  out  late  last 
night.  Come  now,  weren't  you?"  provokingly. 


BEENT'S  CONFESSION.  99 

"Only  about  an  hour  later  than  you.  Fact  is,  Marcia,  I 
couldn't  sleep.  You  ought  to  know  why  as  well  as  anybody 
else.  It  isn't  a  thing  that  happens  very  often  in  a  fellow's  life, 
so  he  can  afford  to  lose  one  night's  sleep  in  consequence. " 

"  Do  you  know,  you  have  an  excellent  reputation  for  keep- 
ing regular  hours.  That  is,  Fanny  Pixley  says  so,  who  I  sup- 
pose gets  it  from  Fred.  They  say  you  are  quite  different  from 
the  generality  of  club  men." 

"What  nonsense,  Marcia!  lam  not  any  better  than  the 
average  man,  or  any  worse.  You  want  to  leave  a  wide  mar- 
gin for  errors  of  judgment  in  your  estimate  of  me,"  with  a 
gloomy  intonation  in  his  voice. 

"  I  don't  think  I  have  gone  very  far  wrong,"  she  said,  softly. 
"  The  first  time  I  ever  saw  you,  I  said  to  myself,  '  Here  is  a 
man  whose  face  is  full  of  truth,  and  open  as  the  day.'  I  have 
had  no  occasion  since  to  doubt  that  estimate." 

Brent  smiled  feebly.  He  could  not  look  at  her,  but  turned 
his  head  away  as  if  to  shut  out  the  sight  of  her  face. 

"  Marcia,"  he  said  finally,  "has  it  ever  occurred  to  you  that 
you  know  very  little  about  me?  Let  me  see — how  long  is  it 
since  the  Amsterdam  Club  had  their  ball  ?  " 

"  It  is  just  two  months,  reckoned  by  the  calendar." 

"Two  months,  and  in  that  time  we  have  met,  loved,  and 
become  engaged. " 

"  Now,  my  dear  Jack,  what  are  you  trying  to  get  at  ?  " 

"  Only  that  you  might  be  deceived  in  me  after  all.  Society, 
you  know,  is  full  of  adventurers.  What  if  I  should  be  one  ? " 

" I  don't  understand  you,"  she  said,  a  little  blankly.  "If 
this  is  a  jest — " 

"  But  it  is  not  a  jest." 

She  started,  and  looked  at  him  with  an  expression  which 
denoted  at  once  wonder  and  alarm. 

"Oh,  I  am  sober  enough,"  he  added,  as  if  he  thought  she 
had  a  suspicion  he  had  been  dining  out.  "I  tell  you  this, 
Marcia,  to  put  you  on  your  guard." 

' '  As  if  I  needed  it !    How  queerly  you  talk !  " 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  I  mean,  if  you  will  listen — something 
I  have  been  wanting  to  tell  you  all  along,  only  I  was  too  big 
a  coward." 

"  About  yourself  ?" 


100  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

''  About  myself."  His  lips  trembled  a  little,  and  he  drew  a 
long  breath. 

"  Go  on,"  she  said,  and  leaned  her  head  on  her  hand  again. 

"Some  months  ago,  a  young  man  sat  on  the  steps  of  a 
house  in  Madison  Square.  He  was  an  outcast,  in  rags,  cold, 
hungry,  a  stranger  in  the  city."  He  waited  as  if  he  had 
expected  her  to  say  something,  but  she  did  not  sti^. 

"It  was  night,  and  he  was  looking  around  for  a  place  to 
sleep.  Chance  threw  in  his  way  a  gentleman  who  offered  to 
clothe  him  and  put  him  on  his  feet  again  on  certain  condi- 
tions— that  he  would — "  he  hesitated  and  could  not  go  on. 

"  I  am  listening,"  she  said  quietly;  "  what  then  ? " 

"On  condition  that  he  would  marry  a' certain  young  lady 
of  wealth,  who  would  be  thrown  in  his  way.  A  part  of  her 
fortune  was  to  be  paid  by  this — this— outcast  to  the  man  who 
had  cared  for  him." 

"And  then?" 

"  Things  were  so  arranged,"  he  went  on  slowly,  "  that  this 
young  man  met  the  lady — they  met  often — they — 

"Oh,  this  is  infamous!"  cried  Marcia,  starting  to  her  feet 
and  walking  away  from  him,  twisting  her  handkerchief  ner- 
vously in  her  fingers.  "To  be  made  the  subject  of  such  a 
shameful  scheme,  to  be  bartered  for  by  two  men  as  if  I  were 
a  common  creature  of  the  streets !  You  need  not  mention  the 
names — I  know  that  you  were  the  young  man — and  I — oh — 
She  sat  down  and  wept,  covering  her  face  with  her  hands,  her 
whole  body  shaken  with  sobs.  He  saw  how  miserable  she 
was,  and  his  heart  bled  for  her. 

"Don't  make  it  too  hard  for  me,"  he  said  hoarsely,  going 
towards  her. 

She  made  a  movement  to  waive  him  back,  but  he  paid  no 
attention  to  it. 

"Marcia,  for  God's  sake  hear  me  out,"  he  pleaded,  "and 
then  judge  ma  I  was  forced  into  this  thing.  I  was  desperate 
at  the  time,  and  would  have  grasped  at  anything  to  save 
myself.  You  cannot  understand.  You  are  young ;  life  is  dear 
to  you.  You  don't  know  what  it  is  to  be  alone  and  stai'ving 
in  a  pitiless  city,  such  as  this.  The  temptation  was  so  great, 
the  risk  so  small.  I  saw  that,  sooner  or  later,  I  must  be 
driven  even  to  crime.  For  I  wanted  to  live,  and  I  was  dying 


BRENT'S  CONFESSION.  101 

slowly  by  inches.  When  this  man  came,  I  was  ready  for 
anything ;  I  did  not  stop  to  count  the  cost.  I  knew  his  offer 
meant  food,  home,  clothes,  and  I  seized  it.  I  was  weary  of 
the  struggle  for  life,  and  saw  a  chance  to  lift  myself  out  of 
want." 

"  But  your  honor  ?  "  she  murmured. 

"Honor!"  he  said,  "ah,  what  thinks  a  starving  man  of 
honor  ?  That  night  I  began  to  play  the  part  I  have  sustained 
ever  since,  of  a  Western  millionaire ;  and  everyone  believed 
in  me.  Marcia,  as  God  is  my  witness,  my  love  for  you  is  an 
honest  one.  It  is  hard  for  you  to  believe  me  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, but  I  swear  it  is  true.  It  has  made  the  burden 
all  the  harder  for  me  to  bear,  to  love  you  so  and  then  deceive 
you." 

"And  this  man,  this  other  man  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Was  Captain  Shrike." 

"  I  thought  so,"  was  the  answer. 

"When  I  first  found  out  that  I  loved  you,"  he  added,  "I 
tried  to  break  away,  but  my  courage  failed  me.  I  was  not 
strong  enough.  I  still  wanted  to  linger  on  in  a  fool's  paradise, 
and  comfort  my  conscience  with  promises  that  you  should 
know  all.  Well,  you  do  know  all  now,"  he  said  bitterly — 
"  every  jot  of  my  perfidy.  Now,  say  you  despise  me  and  let 
me  go." 

She  did  not  seem  to  understand  what  he  said,  but  sat  still 
and  motionless,  with  her  eyes  on  the  ground.  The  crackling 
anthracite  in  the  grate  was  the  only  sound  that  broke  the  still- 
ness. 

"Have  you  told  me  all  this  of  your  own  accord?"  she 
asked,  at  length,  raising  her  head,  but  not  looking  at  him. 

"I  will  be  frank  with  you,"  he  stammered.  "You  shall 
know  all  I  have  to  tell.  You  may  as  well  hear  it  from  my 
lips  as  another.  After  leaving  you  last  night — "  he  paused, 
and  drew  a  long  breath — "I  went  to  the  club.  Shrike  and  I 
had  a  quarrel.  He  said  I  should  never  marry  you,  that  he 
loved  you  himself." 

She  shuddered,  and  Brent  was  glad. 

"Fighting  for  possession  1"  Marcia  said.  "What  have  I 
done  that  I  should  be  placed  in  such  a  position  ?  Oh,  Jack, 


102  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

how  could  you  ?  "  covering  her  face  with  her  hands  and  sob- 
bing as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

"Ah,  how  could  I,  indeed  ?"  he  groaned,  kneeling  beside 
her.  "Don't  be  lenient  towards  me,  for  I  deserve  to  be  pun- 
ished. When  I  knew  I  loved  you,  Marcia,  I  could  not  tell  you. 
Oh,  I  could  not  give  you  up. " 

She  saw  him  kneeling  there,  with  his  face  buried  in  his 
hands,  overcome  with  the  grief  of  the  moment,  and  she  pitied 
him. 

"  Leave  me  now,"  she  said;  "  I  must  think  over  all  you  have 
said." 

"I  dare  not  ask  for  any  hope,"  he  said  sadly.  "  I  know 
there  can  be  no  forgiveness." 

' '  I  suppose  this  story  will  all  come  out  in  the  papers ;  every- 
body will  know  it  ? "  she  asked,  wearily. 

"We  are  in  Captain  Shrike's  power.  It  remains  to  be  seen 
what  he  will  do." 

"  I  expect  no  mercy  from  him,"  she  replied,  clinching  her 
teeth. 

"Oh,  what  misery  I  have  brought  upon  you!"  he  said, 
penitently.  ' '  Who  could  have  foreseen  this  trouble  ?  " 

"  Yet  I  am  glad  you  told  me." 

"Glad?" 

' '  Yes,  glad ;  for  now,  at  least,  we  start  fair.  You  have  told 
me  everything  ? " 

"Everything  that  has  happened  since  I  came  to  New  York." 

"  And  before  that  ?" 

"  Before  that  I  lived  in  St.  Louis  for  three  years.  My  home 
was  in  a  little  town  in  Michigan,  called  Carter's  Ford." 

"And  you  are  alone  in  the  world  ? " 

"Alone,"  he  said,  sadly.  "But  I  have  pained  you  enough 
for  one  evening,"  as  he  took  up  his  hat  and  coat  to  go.  "Try 
and  think  of  me  as  kindly  as  you  can,"  he  added,  regarding 
her  wistfully. 

She  did  not  turn  her  head. 

"I  shall  not  see  you  again  until — until  you  send  for  me. 
Silence  will  spare  you  the  pain  of  a  refusal.  Good-night." 

"  Good -night, "  she  answered  softly,  half  turning  her  head. 

He  lingered  a  moment,  then  turned  away  with  a  sigh,  and 


13 BENT'S  CONFESSION.  103 

groped  his  way  down  the  dimly-lit  stairs.    Would  he  ever  go 
up  that  flight  with  a  lightened  heart  again,  he  wondered. 

Captain  Shrike  was  just  coming  in 'the  front-door  as  he 
opened  it  to  go  out.  He  almost  stumbled  over  him. 

"  Well,  is  our  fair  friend  in  a  mood  for  a  pleasant  surprise  ? " 
asked  the  captain,  insolently. 

"I  have  spared  you  the  trouble,"  said  Brent,  coldly;  "I 
have  told  her  myself." 

Something  in  the  expression  of  his  face  warned  Shrike  that 
it  would  be  perilous  for  him  to  say  more,  and  he  made  way 
for  Brent  to  pass  by. 

"Well,  111  be  d —  — ,"  said  the  captain,  under  his  breath, 
in  a  tone  of  surprise. 

Then  he  suddenly  forgot  what  he  had  come  for,  and  walked 
hastily  away  in  the  opposite  direction  to  that  which  Brent  had 
taken. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  CAPTAIN  MAKES  A  DISCOVERY. 

IT  was  ten  o'clock  the  next  morning  when  Brent  sought  Cap- 
tain Shrike's  room,  resolved  to  know  the  worst.  He  felt  too 
shaken  by  the  occurrences  of  the  past  few  days  to  go  to  the 
mills,  and  had  telegraphed  an  excuse  to  Mr.  Tillinghurst,  ex- 
plaining his  necessary  absence. 

Captain  Shrike  received  his  visitor  with  an  affable  smile. 
He  was  seated  in  a  soft  arm-chair,  by  a  window  in  the  room 
where  Brent  had  first  become  acquainted  with  the  inner  work- 
ings of  the  Impecunious  Club.  He  wore  the  same  gorgeous 
dressing-gown  as  on  that  memorable  occasion,  and  he  was 
puffing  a  huge  cigarette,  which  sent  out  volumes  of  perfumed 
smoke. 

Brent  sat  down,  without  waiting  to  be  asked,  in  a  corner  of 
the  room.  He  was  silent  for  some  moments,  not  knowing  ex- 
actly how  to  begin  the  conversation.  The  appearance  of 
Shrike,  smiling  and  debonair,  rather  squelched  the  bitter 
words  he  had  come  to  say.  The  captain's  coolness  and  sang- 
froid acted  as  a  cold  douche  on  his  passion,  and  he  grew  singu- 
larly calm. 

"  You  are  looking  rather  ratty  this  morning,  me  boy,"  said 
the  captain,  pushing  a  decanter  towards  him,  which  stood  on 
the  centre- table.  "Here !  take  a  drink ;  you'll  feel  better."  As 
Brent  did  not  avail  himself  of  the  offer,  he  went  on:  "I  see  by 
that  rueful  countenance  of  yours,  that  you  have  called  on  me 
to  make  some  disagreeable  remarks ;  in  short,  to  kick  up  a  fuss 
with  yours  truly.  Eh,  am  I  right?"  showing  his  white,  even 
teeth.  "You  are  the  easiest  man  to  read  I  ever  met." 

"I  came  simply  to  ask,"  said  Brent,  coldly,  "what  you  are 
going  to  do  ?  " 

The  captain  burst  out  laughing.  ' '  Well,  come  now,  that's 
good.  What  am  I  going  to  do?  Why,  pursue  the  even  tenor  of 
my  nefarious  career,  to  put  it  in  high-flown  language.  It  isn't 

104 


THE  CAPTAIN  MAKES  A  DISCOVERY.  105 

a  question  of  what  I  am  going  to  do,  but  what  you  are  going 
to  do  ?  You  are  in  the  position  of  a  squatter  who  has  been 
occupying  ground  that  didn't  belong  to  him.  The  rightful 
owner  conies  along — in  this  case  it  is  me — and  you  have  to 
remove.  It  seems  to  me  you  are  a  very  hard  young  man  to 
suit,  if  I  know  anything.  In  the  first  place,  you  are  offered  an 
opportunity  to  marry  a  very  estimable  young  lady,  and  are 
supplied  with  the  means  whereby  you  can  cut  a  respectable 
figure  in  society;  and  all  the  time  you  growl  because  you 
don't  think  you  are  doing  the  right  thing  in  selling  yourself, 
etc.  And  now,  when  that  objection  is  removed,  and  you  have 
ample  opportunity  to  develop  your  highly  moral  principles  on 
bread  and  water,  the  proper  fare  for  the  virtuous,  why,  you 
are  again  disposed  to  kick  in  the  traces.  Man,  what  do 
"  you  want  ?  "  exclaimed  the  captain,  in  mild  exasperation. 

"  What  do  I  want  ?"  asked  the  other.  "You  know  well 
enough  what  I  want.  You  dragged  me  into  this  thing.  Through 
you  I  met  Marcia  Tillinghurst.  I  am  not  forgetful  that  you 
have  done  many  things  for  me,  though  you  have  been  only 
acting  for  your  own  interest  all  along. n  He  was  talking  with 
vehemence  now,  his  face  growing  flushed  and  excited. 

"But  I  will  be  fair,"  put  in  the  captain,  mildly.  "You 
shall  not  be  left  without  means.  I  don't  mind " 

"  Fool !  "  cried  Brent ;  "do  you  think  it  is  money  I  want? " 

He  could  not  trust  himself  to  say  any  more,  but  paced  up 
and  down  the  room  nervously. 

"On  the  day  I  am  married  to  Miss  Tillinghurst,"  pursued 
the  captain,  without  apparently  noticing  that  he  had  been 
interrupted,  "you  shall  have  five  thousand  dollars." 

"But,"  sneered  the  other,  "  why  do  you  imagine  you  can 
ever  win  her?" 

"Oh,  that  will  be  no  trouble,"  nodding  his  head  confidently, 
"  you  being  out  of  the  race." 

"But  I  am  not  out  of  the  race." 

"No?  I  thought  you  were.  What  do  you  think  Papa 
Tillinghurst  will  say  when  he  learns  that  you  are  a  humbug,  a 
fraud,  an  adventurer.  Now,  don't  get  excited,  me  dear  boy," 
as  the  other  started  to  his  feet.  "  Of  course,  I  am  speaking 
in  figurative  language.  Well,  what  do  you  think  the  worthy- 
papa  will  say  to  such  an  alliance? " 


106  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

"I  will  leave  that  to  Marcia,"  murmured  Brent,  who  saw 
too  well  the  hopelessness  of  his  position. 

"  And  you  are  sure  of  her  affection? " 

''Quite  sure." 

"Ah,  well,  women  change  their  passions  about  as  often  as 
they  do  their  bonnets.  The  affection  she  may  have  formed 
for  you  is  at  best  a  sentimental  one.  Her  father  favors  my 
suit,  and  always  has.  He  has  hinted  to  me  time  and  again 
that  he  would  like  me  for  a  son-in-law.  That  alone  is  a  very 
big  point  in  my  favor.  His  daughter  is  very  fond  of  him,  and 
will  try  to  obey  his  wishes.  It  may  be  a  slight  wrench  at 
first,  when  she  finds  she  must  give  you  up,  but  she  will  soon 
get  used  to  her  new  position." 

"  A  very  nice  programme  you  have  laid  out,"  said  the  other, 
bitterly.  "And  what  is  to  become  of  me  in  the  meantime? 
How  do  you  dispose  of  me? " 

' '  I  should  advise  you  to  disappear,  to  sink  back  into  the  same 
oblivion  from  which  I  drew  you,  now  that  you  have  no  further 
use  for  the  name  of  John  Brent.  By  the  .  way,  what  is  your 
real  name?  It  has  entirely  slipped  my  mind." 

' '  Impossible,  for  I  never  told  you, "  said  the  other  dryly. 
"But  you  were  disposing  of  me.  Go  on,  I  beg." 

"Well,  of  course  I  want  you  to  resign  as  superintendent  of 
the  Empire  Mills." 

"That  is,  you  demand  that  I  shall." 

"Well,  yes,  if  you  put  it  in  that  way.  It  would  save  a 
great  deal  of  disagreeable  explanation  on  my  part.  It  will 
be  just  as  easy,  if  you  will  follow  my  instructions,  to  sink  out 
of  sight  as  quickly  as  you  appeared,  without  any  fuss  and 
without  any  scandal.  See?" 

"  And  what  if  I  were  to  turn  round  and  make  an  exposure 
of  you  and  your  confederates  in  the  Impecunious  Club?  Did 
that  ever  occur  to  you?"  said  Brent,  trying  to  play  a  bold 
card. 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  the  captain,  blandly;  "that  has  occurred 
to  me,  dear  boy,  and  been  weighed  and  considered.  I  think 
your  chances  of  pulling  me  down  are  very  small.  In  the  first 
place  it  would  be  an  unequal  struggle  of  twelve  against  one, 
and  you  would  not  be  strong  enough  to  meet  us  in  a  fair  fight. 
Your  social  reputation  has  been  entirely  built  up  through  my 


TEE  CAPTAIN  MAKES  A  DISCOVERY.  1Q7 

instrumentality.  What  is  easier  than  for  me  to  whisper  in  the 
ears  of  those  who  have  had  the  favor  of  entertaining  you,  that 
I  have  been  very  mi^Kh  deceived  in  your  character,  that  I  have 
been  imposed  upon,  and  that  they  ought  to  look  out  for  them- 
selves ;  that  we  have  made  a  mistake,  etc.  ? " 

"And  you  would  go  about  telling  this?  " 

"  Certainly.  Why  not?  An  architect  who  has  built  a  house 
wrong  certainly  ought  to  have  the  privilege  of  pulling  the 
structure  down.  I  made  you ;  it  is  my  privilege  to  unmake 
you." 

The  captain  made  all  these  statements  with  a  smiling  air,  as 
if  he  were  reading  a  copy  of  a  comic  paper.  If  he  noticed  at 
all  that  his  visitor  was  suffering,  he  said  nothing,  but  rattled 
off  his  remarks  unperturbed,  as  if  they  were  pleasantries. 
Brent  was  no  match  for  the  other's  volubility,  so  he  went  over 
to  the  window  and  stood  looking  out  on  the  copper-colored 
river,  as  it  flowed  by  Blackwell's  Island.  He  almost  envied  the 
convicts  at  work  on  the  grass-plots  in  front  of  the  gray-stone 
buildings,  he  felt  so  friendless  and  miserable  at  that  moment. 
He  knew  the  captain  was  a  strong  rival,  and  doubt  would  rise, 
though  he  tried  to  drive  it  out  of  his  heart,  that  Marcia  might 
not  be  able  to  withstand  the  strong  pressure  brought  against 
her,  and  that  she  would  give  way,  and  Shrike  would  triumph. 
He  did  not  want  to  think  this.  He  wanted  to  believe  that  she 
would  remain  true  through  all  his  deception,  and  trust  him 
in  spite  of  the  world. 

"I  know  what  you  are  thinking  about,"  broke  in  the  cap- 
tain's voice  harshly.  "You  are  thinking  about  playing  the 
hand  alone.  Well,  I  admire  your  pluck,  and  I  am  very  sorry 
it  could  not  have  been  used  in  a  more  promising  struggle.  I 
am  really  sorry." 

"Spare  me  your  pity,"  said  Brent.  "I  have  not  fallen  so 
low  that  I  need  that." 

"Bitter,  eh?"  laughed  the  captain,  good-naturedly;  "bitter 
against  your  benefactor,  who  has  made  a  millionaire  of  you 
and  clothed  you  all  these  months.  Ah  me,  the  ingratitude 
of  this  world !  A  real  philanthropist  is  never  properly  appre- 
ciated until  he  dies.  I  really  don't  see  how  you  can  blame  me 
if  you  have  fallen  in  love  with  the  young  lady.  I  never  bar- 
gained with  you  for  that.  In  love  and  war,  me  boy,  you 


108  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

know,  we  cannot  but  avail  ourselves  of  the  arms  at  hand.  I 
am  your  rival.  I  am  the  strongest  in  the  fight,  and  you  must 
go  under.  It  is  the  law  of  life,  and  we  must  obey  it. " 

"We  shall  see,"  said  Brent,  turning  around.  "I  have  still 
the  egotism  to  think  that  I  have  some  chance  in  this  race. 
The  prize  will  be  to  the  swift." 

"Then  you  are  not  going  to  take  up  with  my  offer?  Re- 
member, it  means  five  thousand  dollars,  immunity  from 
scandal,  the  only  condition  being  that  you  slip  out  of  sight. " 

"And  I  refuse  it.  You  have  everything,  you  think,  in  your 
favor.  Well,  we  shall  see.  I  am  confident  that  she  has  not 
entirely  forgotten  me." 

For  once  the  cap  tain  lost  his  temper  and  swore.  "You  are 
a  headstrong  idiot.  Having  entangled  yourself  in  a  hopeless 
snarl,  you  will  not  let  me  assist  you  out  of  it.  You  are  rather 
excited  now,  and  due  allowance  must  be  made  for  that:  I  will 
give  you  until  Saturday  to  make  up  your  mind  whether  you 
will  follow  my  prescription  or  not.  Then,  if  you  are  still 
stubborn,  why,  in  vulgar  parlance,  I  will  '  blow  the  gaff. ' " 

"My  answer  will  be  the  same  then  as  to-day,"  said  Brent, 
taking  up  his  hat.  "I  should  be  unworthy  of  any  good 
woman's  love  if  I  allowed  myself  to  be  bought  off  for  five 
thousand  dollars,"  he  added  hotly,  as  he  turned  to  the  door. 

"You  will  have  a  different  story  to  tell  next  week,"  said  the 
captain,  rising  with  the  same  bland  smile,  which  had  never 
left  his  face  but  once  during  the  conversation. 

The  other  bowed  and  walked  out  of  the  house.  The  captain 
sat  down  in  his  arm-chair  again,  and  for  five  minutes  puffed 
industriously  at  his  cigarette. 

"It's  a  pity  we  had  to  come  to  a  quarrel.  There's  some- 
thing about  Brent  that  I  can't  help  liking.  Confound  the  dog, 
there  is  something  in  him  in  spite  of  his  mulishness.  But  it 
won't  do  for  me  to  turn  soft  now.  He  means  fight,  and  I  shall 
have  to  give  it  to  him.  When  he  finds  that  all  his  supplies  are 
to  be  cut  off,  and  that  he  must  drop  from  Delmonico's  to 
Chatham  Street  restaurants,  why,  it  may  bring  him  to  his 
knees.  I'll  get  out  that  old  suit  he  wore  the  night  I  found  him 
in  Madison  Square.  I've  never  hunted  through  it  to  find  out 
what  his  real  name  is." 

He  left  his  comfortable  arm-chair  with  a  sigh,  and  unlocked 


THE  CAPTAIN  MAKES  A  DISCOVERY.  109 

the  closet  door.  He  found  all  the  old  clothes  rolled  up  on  the 
top  shelf,  and  dragged  them  down  with  a  gas-lighter,  which 
stood  by  the  fire-place. 

"Well,  to  think  that  that  howling  swell- once  occupied  these 
old  rags ! "  was  the  captain's  comment,  as  he  poked  among  the 
shabby  garments.  "I  can't  afford  to  be  fastidious  if  I  want 
to  find  out  anything,"  he  muttered,  as  he  fished  up  an  old 
unbleached  shirt  out  of  the  pile  and  examined  it  critically. 
On  the  tag  at  the  end  of  the  bosom  he  could  see  some  faint 
marks,  as  if  a  name  had  once  been  written  there.  He  carried 
it  to  the  light  and  examined  it  closely.  Then  he  whistled  loud 
and  long,  and  his  eyes  sparkled  with  pleasure.  Yes,  undoubt- 
edly, the  marks  stood  for  a  name.  He  adjusted  his  glasses 
and  finally  made  out  the  letters.  They  spelt  George  Walton 
or  Waldon — he  could  not  exactly  make  up  his  mind  which. 
He  put  the  rags  back  in  the  closet,  but  the  tag  he  cut  off  and 
placed  in  his  pocket-book. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

MR.  GEEDGE  APPEARS  ON  THE  SCENE. 

AT  nine  o'clock  on  that  evening,  Captain  Rivington  Shrike, 
attired  in  full  dress,  a  white  kersey  top-coat,  and  with  his  mil- 
itary moustache  waxed  in  two  formidable  spikes,  tripped  out 
of  the  door  of  the  club-house  in  Beekman  Place,  and  sauntered 
towards  his  carriage,  which  stood  in  waiting.  He  was  in  ex- 
cellent humor,  it  would  seem,  for  he  whistled  a  merry  air  from 
an  opera  bouffe  as  he  buttoned  his  kid  gloves,  and  his  step  was 
light  on  the  pavement.  As  he  was  getting  into  his  carriage 
someone  touched  him  on  the  shoulder,  and  a  whining  voice  at 
his  elbow  exclaimed : 

' '  You  haven't  the  price  of  a  pint,  mebbe,  have  you  now,  Mr. 
Shrike?" 

The  captain  turned  to  confront  a  trembling,  withered  old 
man,  in  a  seedy  diagonal  suit,  so  covered  with  mud  that  its 
owner  must  have  been  rolling  in  the  gutter.  The  whining 
voice  came  from  behind  a  dirty  yellow  beard,  forming  the 
fringe  to  a  dull  red  face,  from  which  two  bleary  blue  eyes 
looked  at  the  captain  piteously. 

"It  ain't  likely  as  you'd  know  me,  I'm  that  changed,"  shiv- 
ered the  remnant,  in  a  quavering  voice. 

"Come  here,"  said  Shrike,  shortly,  pushing  him  with  no 
gentle  hand  in  the  direction  of  the  street  lamp. 

Under  the  light  he  examined  the  dirty  man  critically  and 
slowly,  and  then  gave  a  prolonged  whistle  of  surprise. 

"I  should  say,"  he  drawled,  "that  you  were  once  David 
Gredge." 

"  Yes,  sir — yes,  sir,"  quavered  the  other,  in  his  feeble  piping 
voice,  as  he  rubbed  his  bony  hands  together.  "That's  it;  I 
was  once  Dave  Gredge,  but  I'm  nothin'  but  his  ghost  now. 
Things  have  changed  since  them  days,  Mr.  Shrike — that  is, 
Captain  Shrike.  The  wheels  has  taken  another  turn,  and  those 
as  was  up  is  down.  I've  been  going  down  and  down,  lower 

110 


MR.  GRELGE  APPEARS  ON  TIIE  SCENE.  HI 

than  I  ever  thought  a  body  could  go.  There  don't  seem  to  be 
any  bottom  when  ye  get  started,"  with  a  long  sigh  like  a 
whine. 

"You  don't  blame  anyone  but  yourself,  I  hope,"  said  the 
captain,  curtly,  for  he  was  beginning  to  tire  of  the  old  man's 
loquacity.  "  You  brought  it  all  on  yourself." 

"I  don't  blame  nobody,"  said  Gredge,  sadly.  "It's  my  own 
fault  that  I'm  where  I  am.  I  know  it ;  I  ain't  had  any  cause 
to  forget  it." 

"  Well,  come,  come  ;  don't  keep  me  here  all  night.  I  am  in 
a  hurry.  Here's  a  dollar,  if  that  is  any  good  to  yoii." 

The  old  man  seized  the  bill  eagerly  and  thrust  it  away  in  the 
lining  of  his  greasy  hat. 

" I— I  didn't  know  but  you  might  put  me  in  the  way  o'  get- 
tin'  somethin'  to  do?  "  eagerly. 

The  captain  laughed  outright. 

"  Why,  man,  you  couldn't  keep  a  place  for  a  week.  You 
lost  your  position  with  Tillinghurst  through  drink,  and  it  has 
been  the  same  story  ever  since.  It's  too  late  for  you  to  pull  in. 
You  know  it  yourself." 

"But  is  it  right,  "  he  whined,  "that  John  Tillinghurst, 
whom  I  worked  for  years  ago,  when  he  hadn't  hardly  a  dollar, 
should  be  livin'  in  high  style,  while  I  tramp  the  streets  like  a 
stray  dog?  He  thinks  I'm  dead;  and  mighty  glad  the  thought 
makes  him,  I  dare  say.  If  he  knew  I  was  still  on  deck,  it  'ud 
spoil  some  of  his  sleep  o'  nights,"  rubbing  his  dirty  palms 
together  in  a  thoughtful  way.  "It  'ud  give  him  some  bad 
dreams." 

"  You  don't  seem  to  love  your  old  employer,"  said  Shrike. 

"Well,  I  guess  not;  I  ain't  any  cause  to.  I  served  him  so 
well  when  he  was  a  poor  man.  and  he  might  have  given  me  a 
show  when  he  grew  rich,  instead  o'  turnin'  me  out  to  die  in 
the  streets.  Like  him? "  he  added,  with  vehemence;  "I'd  like 
to  get  him  down  where  I  am,  and  let  him  suffer  as  I  have 
suffered." 

His  anger  was  so  terrible  that  Shrike  drew  back  in  alarm. 
There  was  something  horrible  in  the  rage  of  this  miserable  old 
man,  still  quivering  from  the  effects  of  a  recent  debauch,  his 
watery -blue  eyes  rolling  in  their  sockets,  and  his  dirty,  yellow 
hair  blowing  about  his  face, 


112  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

A  thought  suddenly  struck  the  captain.  Perhaps  Gredge 
knew  something  about  Tillinghurst,  something  that  might  be 
used  to  bring  the  millionaire  to  terms. 

"This  is  rather  dry  work  talking  here,"  he  said,  carelessly; 
"suppose  we  adjourn  where  we  can  have  a  chat  in  private." 

The  eyes  of  the  old  man  lit  up,  and  he  rubbed  his  poor  lips 
together  as  if  he  scented  liquor  afar  off.  The  prospect  of  a 
drink  stimulated  him  to  keep  up  with  Shrike's  military  stride, 
and  he  shuffled  along  the  pavement  like  a  much  younger  man. 

Second  Avenue  was  but  a  step,  and  they  soon  found  them- 
selves established  in  a  little  room  off  the  bar  of  the  corner 
saloon.  The  captain  ordered  sherry  for  himself  and  a  bottle  of 
gin  and  some  water  for  Gredge,  and  after  the  waiter  had  gone 
away  and  closed  the  door,  he  said  impatiently:  "  Now,  if  you 
have  anything  to  tell,  be  quick  about  it.  I  have  an  appoint- 
ment at  ten,  and  it  is  now  half -past  nine,"  looking  at  his  watch. 

Mr.  Gredge,  having  absorbed  two  glasses  of  gin-aiid  water, 
leaned  back  in  his  chair  in  a  comfortable  attitude,  and  seemed 
in  no  hurry  whatever  to  begin.  "I  don't  see,  beggin'  your 
pardon,  what  difference  it  could  make  to  a  gent  like  you,  if 
me  and  Tillinghurst  did  have  a  row,''  eyeing  the  captain  curi- 
ously. 

"That  is  my  business,"  said  the  other  quietly.  "  You  were 
once  his  confidential  clerk ;  you  knew  all  his  secrets.  It  was 
only  a  few  months  before  you  left  his  employ  that  he  myste- 
riously rose  from  being  a  second  hand  furniture  dealer  and 
tenement-house  banker  to — 

"  Yes,  that  was  a  jump,"  interrupted  Gredge,  pouring  him- 
self out  a  stiff  drink,  and  draining  the  glass  without  drawing 
breath.  "  There  ain't  many  men  could  do  the  trick  as  he  done, 
steppin'  from  a  dirty  store  on  Seventh  Avenue  to  the  Rawdon 
Building  on  Broadway.  Wonder  what  become  of  the  owner 
of  that  big  building.  Another  man  that  Tillinghurst  plowed 
under,  though  he  was  a  proud  old  duffer,  and  likely  deserved 
what  he  got.  S'pose  he's  drinkin'  himself  to  death  or  tryin' 
to,  somethin'  like  me;  "  and  Gredge  sighed,  and  had  resource  to 
the  bottle  again  to  drown  his  thoughts. 

Captain  Shrike  was  in  despair.  Gredge  already  looked 
drowsy,  and  might  fall  asleep  in  the  midst  of  the  conversation. 
Fifteen  minutes  had  passed,  and  still  the  old  book-keeper  was 


MR.  GREDGE  APPEARS  ON  THE  SCENE.  H3 

far  away  from  the  subject  in  which  he  was  interested.  Some- 
thing must  be  done. 

"Come,  come,"  he  said,  shaking  the  old  man  by  the  arm 
impatiently ;  "  I  didn't  come  here  to  listen  to  the  story  of 
your  life.  I  may  give  you  five  dollars  if  I  hear  anything  in- 
teresting. You  were  talking  about  John  Tillinghurst." 

"I  was  just  getting  to  that,"  said  Gredge.  "How  you  do 
hurry  a  chap,  to  be  sure !  I — I  don't  know  as  I  got  much  to 
tell  anyway,"  with  a  foolish  leer.  "Leastways,  you  wouldn't 
think  it  much." 

"lean  tell  better  when  I  hear  what  it  is.  Here,  take  an- 
other drink,"  pushing  the  bottle  towards  him. 

' '  I  will  take  another,  thank  you  kindly,  Mr.  Shrike.  Well, 
as  I  was  sayin',  you  have  wondered,  perhaps,  by  what  trick 
Tillinghurst  got  to  be  a  rich  man? " 

Shrike  nodded. 

"I  know  you  wouldn't  care  to  hear  the  story  unless  you  was 
going  to  use  it  against  him,  and  that's  what  I  want.  Nobody 
would  believe  me,  if  I  told  all  I  know,  for  he's  too  high  up 
and  I'm  too  low  down,  so  I'll  let  you  take  it  out  of  him.  Til- 
linghurst, you  know,  never  had  any  family.  He  was  born  in 
the  streets,  and  got  his  livin'  as  best  he  could,  just  as  I  am 
now.  He  had  scraped  together  some  money  as  a  pedler,  and 
with  that  he  started  in  a  basement  on  Seventh  Avenue,  deal- 
ing in  old  furniture,  second-hand  stuff,  and  lendin'  money  at 
big  interest  to  poor  folks  in  the  neighborhood.  I  was  his 
chief  clerk,  cashier,  errand  boy,  and  general  utility,  and  took 
a  hand  too  in  cleanin'  stoves  and  rubbing  up  furniture'.  Til- 
linghurst did  a  good  deal  of  speculation,  too,  and  made,  quite 
a  reputation  on  the  Street  among  the  small  brokers,  who 
thought  him  a  cautious  buyer  and  a  good  man  to  follow." 

Mr.  Gredge  paused  to  take  another  drink,  and  then  pro- 
ceeded: "But  Tillinghurst  had  a  run  of  bad  luck,  and  be- 
gan using  the  money  that  had  been  deposited  with  him,  and 
all  that  was  swallowed  up  in  speculations.  I  knew  he  was 
getting  roady  to  skip  out  of  town  the  moment  he  saw  the  jig 
was  up,  but  I  said  nothing,  because  I  thought  there  might  be 
a  chance  for  me  to  carry  on  the  business.  Things  was  looking 
pretty  black,  when  one  day  an  elderly  sort  o'  woman  came 
into  the  shop  and  asked  for  Tillinghurst.  They  talked  to- 
8  » 


114  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

gether  for  about  two  hours,  and  though  I  listened  at  the  par- 
tition,.! couldn't  hear  a  word." 

"And  you  don't  know  the  result  of  that  conversation?" 
asked  the  captain,  eagerly. 

"  Oh,  bless  you,  yes.  Tillinghurst  told  me  afterwards  that 
the  woman  was  a  relation  of  his  from  the  West,  and  that  she 
had  come  on  to  see  him  with  a  view  of  investing  some  money." 

"  And  is  that  all?" 

"Not  yet.  The  worst  is  to  come,"  said  the  ex-clerk, 
stopping  to  mop  the  perspiration  from  his  forehead  with  a 
dingy  handkerchief.  "The  very  next  morning  that  woman 
was  picked  up  near  the  pier  at  the  foot  of  West  Twenty- 
second  Street — dead !  " 

"Dead?" 

"Yes;  and  there  was  no  receipt  found  on  the  body  that  she 
had  ever  given  Tillinghurst  a  cent." 

"  But  you  don't  mean  to  insinuate,  man,  that  he  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  her  death? " 

"No — no.  He  was  a  bad  'un,  but  he  always  kept  as  much 
as  he  could  inside  the  law.  It  was  only  chance  that  threw 
her  in  his  way." 

"  But  the  money,  what  became  of  that?  " 

"Nobody  knows  but  Tillinghurst.  It  was  a  few  months 
after  her  death  that  he  blossomed  out  as  a  financier.  Mind 
you,  I  don't  accuse  him  o'  stealin'  that  money.  Oh  no,"  with 
a  chuckle;  "I  wouldn't  for  the  world;  but  it  was  a  queer 
affair — a  mighty  queer  affair." 

' '  But  this — this  woman  must  have  had  relations  who  would 
look  after  her  interests — who  must  have  known  of  this  money," 
pursued  Shrike. 

"  No,  I  don't  think  she  had  a  soul  to  look  after  her.  I  found 
out  in  an  indirect  way  that  she  left  a  little  son  out  in  the 
Western  town  which  she  came  from,  and  I  guess  it  was  on  his 
account  that  she  wanted  to  invest  this  money." 

"  And  you  heard  nothing  more  of  the  boy? " 

"Not  a  word,"  said  Gredge,  drowsily.  "As  no  one  knew 
the  woman's  name  but  us  two,  she  was  buried  without  any,  at 
Tillinghurst's  expense.  He  made  capital  out  of  her  funeral, 
you  may  imagine." 

"And  you,  I  suppose,  aided  him  in  robbing  the  orphan  of 


ME.  GREDGE  APPEARS  ON  THE  SCEXE.  H5 

his  inheritance? "  asked  Shrike.  "Gredge,  you  are  a  bigger 
scoundrel  than  I  thought  you  were." 

"  'Scuse  me,  Cap'n,  but  what  could  I  do?  Had  no  proofs  he 
ever  got  any  money.  Poor  men  can't  be  too  particular. "  The 
liquor  was  beginning  to  affect  him,  and  his  head  swayed  to 
and  fro  as  he  sat  there.  "  'Sides,  none  o'  my  bishness  lookin' 
up  a  orphan.  I  shpose  now  I'll  get  my  five  dollarsh,"  holding 
out  a  trembling  hand. 

"You  don't  deserve  it,"  said  Shrike,  with  contempt,  laying  a 
gold  piece  on  the  table. 

Gredge  fumbled  at  it  blindly  in  his  drunken  way,  but  could 
not  lift  it  up :  at  length  his  head  drooped  and  he  fell  forward 
in  a  stupor. 

Captain  Shrike  rose  to  go.  "If  what  he  has  told  me  to- 
night is  true,"  standing  over  the  crouching  figure,  "my  time 
has  been  well  spent." 

He  walked  out  of  the  room  on  tiptoe,  for  fear  of  disturbing 
the  other's  drunken  slumbers,  and  told  the  bar-keeper  to  look 
after  Gredge  when  he  should  wake.  The  moment  he  found 
himself  on  the  sidewalk  a  sudden  thought  struck  him  like  an 
inspiration.  He  returned  hastily  to  the  room  where  he  had 
left  Gredge. 

The  drunken  book-keeper  was  snoring  vociferously,  his  face 
buried  in  a  dirty  coat-sleeve,  surrounded  by  a  puddle  of  spilt 
gin  that  trickled  out  of  a  broken  bottle  at  his  side. 

Captain  Shrike  seized  him  by  the  arm  and  shook  him  vig- 
orously, but  he  still  snored  on.  It  was  not  until  a  syphon  of 
soda-water  had  been  squirted  into  his  face,  accompanied  by 
several  vigorous  kicks  from  the  captain's  lacquered  boots,  that 
he  regained  consciousness. 

" Shtrange !"  he  murmured ;  "didn't  look  like  rainsh,"  rub- 
bing his  eyes  with  a  dirty  fist. 

"  Here,  wake  up,"  with  another  kick. 

"Oh,  it's  you,  Shrike?" 

"Yes,  I  want  to  ask  you  a  question." 

"Good  old  Shrike — good  old — "  he  murmured  brokenly. 

"  What  was  the  name  of  this  woman  who  was  found  on  the 
pier? "  asked  the  captain,  bending  down  to  the  other's  ear. 

"  What  woman?  "  blinking  his  eyes. 

"The  woman  you  were  telling  about,  you  know,  that  called 


116  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

on  Tillinghurst.  Here's  another  dollar  to  make  you  remember 
better,"  laying  it  on  the  table. 

"  Her  name  was — "  but  his  eyes  closed  as  if  he  was  going  off 
into  sound  slumber  again. 

"  Yes,  what  was  it? "  asked  Shrike,  eagerly. 

"  Wa — Wa — Wa — Waldon/'  yawned  the  book-keeper,  doub- 
ling up  again  on  the  table  and  resuming  his  snoring. 

"  Waldon!"  exclaimed  the  captain,  his  face  brightening  up. 
"Ah,  the  devil  is  working  well  for  me  to-night.  You  can't 
refuse  me  fora  son-in-law  now,  John  Tillinghurst,"  as  he  left 
the  room  hastily,  with  a  triumphant  step. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  BLOW  FALLS. 

ABOUT  the  same  time  in  the  evening  that  Captain  Shrike's 
coupe  drew  up  at  the  Tillinghurst  mansion.  John  Brent  was 
seated  before  the  fire  in  his  room,  reading  over  for  the  twentieth 
time  a  note  he  had  received  at  the  dinner-table. 

"  I  shall  expect  you  on  Wednesday,"  Marcia  had  written, 
"between  three  and  four,  when  everything  can  be  explained." 

He  could  hardly  take  his  eyes  off  the  handwriting ;  every 
curve  and  twist  in  the  characters  seemed  to  fill  him  with  new 
hope.  He  had  left  his  fate  in  her  hands,  and  now,  of  her  own 
free  will,  she  had  called  him  back.  It  would  have  been  so 
easy,  he  argued  over  and  over  again  to  himself,  to  have  re- 
mained silent,  the  least  painful  of  all  refusals.  But  she  had 
written,  had  called  him  to  her  side.  What  other  construction 
could  he  put  on  her  words,  but  that  she  loved  him  well  enough 
to  defy  society  and  the  world  for  his  sake?  Such  an  exulta- 
tion filled  his  heart  that  had  the  whole  Impecunious  Club  been 
present,  headed  by  Captain  Shrike,  he  could  have  snapped  his 
fingers  in  their  faces  and  thrown  down  the  gauntlet  of  his 
defiance.  In  all  the  months  he  had  lived  in  the  bubbling 
gayety  of  New  York  society,  he  had  never  felt  so  joyous  and 
light-hearted  as  at  that  moment.  A  feeling  of  intense  relief 
possessed  his  spirit,  is  if  he  had  rid  himself  of  some  vexing 
burden  that  lay  heavy  on  his  soul. 

It  was  daybreak  before  he  went  to  bed.  What  did  he  care, 
for  sleep?  He  did  not  want  to  forget.  He  wanted  to  live  in 
the  present,  that  was  now  so  sweet.  There  all  his  dreams,  his 
hopes,  his  ambitions  centred. 

When  he  came  down  to  the  breakfast-table  after  his  sleep- 
less night,  a  letter  in  a  yellow  envelope  lay  at  his  plate.  He 
recognized  John  Tillinghurst's  crooked  chirography  at  a 
glance.  He  took  it  up  and  looked  at  it  curiously. 

117 


118  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

"Some  instructions  about  the  mills,  I  suppose,"  he  said  care- 
lessly, as  he  opened  it  with  a  table-knife. 

"You  will  not  be  surprised  to  hear,"  wrote  Mr.  Tillinghurst, 
"that  the  hands  at  the  Empire  Mills  have  struck  for  eight 
hours  a  day  at  the  same  wages.  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to 
shut  up  the  mills  rather  than  give  in.  A  few  months'  living  on 
bread  and  water,  or  even  less,  will  bring  these  chaps  to  their 
knees.  At  least,  I'm  going  to  see  how  the  scheme'll  work. 
Under  the  circumstances,  I  am  compelled  to  dispense  with 
your  services.  Thanking  you  for  the  faithful  manner  you 
have  conducted  my  business,"  etc. 

"  At  least,  Shrike  has  not  exposed  me  yet,"  murmured  Brent- 
He  noticed  that  the  letter  bore  the  postmark  of  the  morning 
before.  It  had  evidently  been  delayed  in  coming.  For  the 
present,  at  least,  he  was  safe.  He  even  began  to  hope  that,  at 
the  last  moment.  Captain  Shrike  had  been  tempted  to  relent 
and  save  him  from  exposure ;  yet  he  hardly  dared  cherish  such 
a  Utopian  dream. 

The  loss  of  his  position  as  superintendent  of  the  Empire  Mills 
troubled  him  very  little.  He  had  never  been  paid  any  salary, 
and  he  had  been  offered  a  better  position  in  a  broker's  office 
by  a  club  acquaintance.  He  was  sorry  for  the  men,  who 
would  suffer  bitterly  in  the  end.  Knowing  the  unyielding 
nature  of  the  millionaire,  he  had  warned  the  hands  at  the  mill 
that  they  were  making  a  hazardous  experiment  in  crossing  his 
will. 

The  voices  of  demagogues  and  pot-house  orators,  however, 
had  prevailed,  and  they  had  struck.  To  the  many  it  meant 
great  discomfort  and  want,  and  even  starvation ;  but  conscious 
that  they  were  doing  a  brave  act  in  defying  the  capitalists, 
they  had  closed  their  ears  to  the  supplications  of  their  wives 
and  children,  and  marched  to  battle  against  a  more  fearful  foe 
than  monopoly— the  ravening  wolf  of  want  and  hunger. 

Brent  finished  his  breakfast  in  short  order,  for  he  was  too 
excited  to  care  to  eat.  He  went  out  into  the  street  to  walk 
off  some  of  the  nervousness  he  felt,  before  making  that  mo- 
mentous call  on  Marcia  that  was  to  make  or  mar  his  life. 

The  day  was  bright  with  sunshine,  and  Fifth  Avenue  gay 
with  people.  Everyone  of  importance  seemed  about,  eager  to 
bask  in  the  generous  warmth  of  the  sun,  that  caused  the  silver 


THE  7JLOTF  FALLS.  119 

and  gold  harnesses  to  sparkle  on  the  horses  clattering  down 
the  street,  and  brought  out  in  greater  relief  the  colors  in  the 
bright  winter  costumes  worn  by  the  women. 

Brent  thought  he  had  never  seen  that  famous  thoroughfare 
so  filled  with  life ;  and  the  tinkle  of  boots,  the  clatter  of  horses, 
and  the  occasional  voices  of  the  drivers  were  like  a  pleasant 
song  in  his  ears. 

The  rector  of  the  Heavenly  Hope  came  hurrying  along,  his 
arms  filled  with  soberly  bound  volumes,  the  long  tails  of  his 
clerical  coat  flying  in  the  wind. 

"  I  did  not  see  you  at  church  last  Sunday,"  he  gasped,  drift- 
ing up  alongside  of  Brent.  "  So  sorry,  for  the  Bishop  of  Ripon 
was  present,  and  delivered  a  most  eloquent  address  on  the 
subject  of  foreign  missions.  Several  in  the  congregation  were 
very  much  affected." 

Brent  wanted  to  ask  to  what  amount  of  money  they  had  been 
affected,  but  only  said : 

"lam  afraid  business  matters,  of  late,  have  occupied  my 
mind  more  than  spiritual,  Mr.  Satine.  You  may  have  heard 
of  the  trouble  at  the  Empire  Mills.  Mr.  Tillinghurst  probably 
told  you." 

"No,  not  exactly,"  said  the  clergyman  with  a  sigh;  "and 
yet  I  suspected  something  must  be  wrong,  as  he  only  contrib- 
uted half  the  sum  he  did  last  year  to  the  mission  fund,"  shak- 
ing his  head  sadly.  "What  seems  to  be  the  difficulty  ? " 

"  The  men  have  struck." 

"Misguided  creatures!"  murmured  Mr.  Satine,  lifting  his 
eyes  heavenward,  and  raising  his  hands  with  a  despairing  gest- 
ure. "  When  will  the  toiling  millions  learn  not  to  abuse  their 
God-given  power?  I  fear  they  have  much  misery  in  store  for 
them,  poor  creatures !  " 

"  I  wonder  you  don't  labor  among  them,"  said  Brent  slyly; 
"  I  am  sure  there  could  be  no  grander  field  a  man  could  choose 
for  mission  work." 

"True — true!  "  said  the  minister,  with  an  air  of  conviction. 
"  And  yet  they  prefer  to  worship  a  demagogue  instead  of  a 
God.  I  will  consult  with  Mr.  Tillinghurst,  and  see  if  some- 
thing cannot  be  done.  Bless  me !  but  I  hear  of  nothing  but 
strikes  all  the  town  over.  Some  of  the  most  solid  and  respect- 


120  A  SLA  VE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

able  men  in  my  congregation  have  been  actually  threatened  by 
these  lawless  men." 

"I  have  no  doubt,"  said  Brent.  "Perhaps  if  the  rich 
members  of  your  congregation  spent  less  on  foreign  missions 
and  paid  better  wages,  there  would  be  less  want,  and  the 
Christian  religion  would  make  quite  as  much  advance.  These 
poor  people  have  their  own  wrongs,  Mr.  Satine;  it  is  not 
strange  that,  in  their  anger,  they  sometimes  strike  blindly." 

"lam  afraid  your  position  as  superintendent  of  the  Mills 
has  given  your  mind  a  socialistic  bias,"  said  Mr.  Satine,  shak- 
ing his  head.  "The  time  has  come  when  capital  must  take 
decisive  action,  or  it  will  be  overwhelmed.  I  am  worried  at 
the  aspect  of  things.  These  meetings  that  are  being  held 
nightly  in  the  lower  part  of  the  city  mean  danger.  It  looks 
like  a  second  French  revolution." 

Mr.  Satine  shivered  at  the  thought,  and  looked  around  him 
hurriedly,  as  if  he  expected  the  arrival  of  a  mob  bent  on  mur- 
der. 

"It  would  be  a  bad  thing  for  the  members  of  your  church, 
Mr.  Satine,"  said  Brent,  maliciously.  "  I  believe  the  richest 
men  in  the  town  have  pews  in  your  church. " 

"It  is  so  reported,"  with  satisfaction.  "  I  believe  my  congre- 
gation have  been  singularly  blessed  in  this  world's  riches,  and 
for  that  reason  I  am  anxious.  What  do  you  think,  Mr.  Brent, 
of  the  trouble?" 

"I  think  we  are  on'  the  eve  of  a  great  crisis.  The  hun- 
dred thousand  men  who  are  out  of  employment  in  this  city 
must  find  some  vent  for  their  animal  strength  before  long. 
They  will  not  starve  contentedly  while  so  much  extravagance 
and  luxury  exist  among  the  rich.  Unless  something  is  done 
to  employ  the  strength  of  these  idlers,  the  city,  in  a  few  weeks, 
will  be  ripe  for  anarchy." 

"You  alarm  me,"  exclaimed  the  minister,  raising  his  hands 
with  a  despairing  gesture.  "Well,  come  what  will,  you  will 
find  the  rector  of  the  Heavenly  Hope  at  the  side  of  his  congre- 
gation, should  the  Lord  see  fit  to  visit  them  with  trials,  Mr. 
Brent ; "  and  Mr.  Satine,  with  a  bow,  disappeared  with  his 
books  into  a  brown- stone  house  they  were  just  passing.  • 

"Much  he  cares  about  the  poor  !  "  said  Brent,  as  he  con- 


THE  BLOW  FALLS.  121 

tinned  his  way.  "  He  is  thinking  more  of  his  fifteen  thousand 
a  year  salary  than  of  ameliorating  anybody's  condition." 

On  the  corner  of  one  of  the  streets  he  saw  Joe  Skerritt  and 
a  group  of  idlers,  some  of  whom  he  remembered  as  having 
been  employed  once  at  the  Empire  Mills.  Joe  acknowledged 
his  salutation  with  a  cheery  "  Good  morning,"  but  the  others 
only  scowled  and  nodded.  Brent  had  always  taken  a  fancy 
to  Joe,  and  felt  sorry  he  was  mixed  up  in  the  strike.  There 
was  good  material  in  the  lad,  but  he  would  be  ruined  by  such 
company. 

Knots  of  idlers  such  as  he  had  passed  were  visible  on  nearly 
every  corner.  It  was  an  unusual  sight  on  that  fashionable 
thoroughfare,  sacred  to  the  plutocracy.  The  men  were  quiet 
enough,  but  there  was  something  mysterious  about  their 
manner  as  they  chatted  together.  The  views  which  Brent  had 
stated  to  the  rector  of  the  Heavenly  Hope  revived  in  his  mind. 
The  officious  policemen  saw  that  the  groups  did  not  remain 
standing  long  in  one  place,  but  that  they  scattered,  only  to 
gather  again  on  another  block.  It  looked  as  if  half  of  the  un- 
employed in  the  city  had  taken  possession  of  the  street.  As 
the  men  passed  by  some  of  the  more  elegant  houses,  they 
made  remarks  in  a  jeering  way,  and  a  chambermaid  who 
was  washing  a  window  came  in  for  her  share  of  their  boister- 
ous attempts  at  humor. 

Some  of  Mr.  Satine's  misgivings  arose  in  Brent's  thoughts  as 
he  strodevalong  that  bright  morning.  He  was  an  unemployed 
man  himself ;  he  had  no  money  but  a  few  dollars  in  the  world, 
and  he  sympathized  with  them.  But  he  could  think  of  noth- 
ing else  but  the  face  he  expected  to  meet  that  afternoon. 
Would  it  be  with  a  smile  or  a  frown  ?  He  knew  that  his  fu- 
ture was  in  her  keeping.  She  could  make  or  mar  him  by  her 
answer.  He  spent  the  morning  roaming  about  down-town 
among  his  business  acquaintances.  Everything  was  dull 
on  Wall  Street,  owing  to  the  unsettled  aspect  of  the  labor 
market.  He  was  in  hopes  that  he  might  see  a  chance  to  get 
something  to  do,  and  he  received  a  good  deal  of  encourage- 
ment. Freddy  Pixley  was  delighted  at  the  prospect  of  get- 
ting Brent  into  his  office,-  and  made  an  engagement  on  the 
spot.  They  had  lunch  together  at  two  o'clock,  and  a  bottle  of 
wine,  and  Brent  took  the  Elevated  up  to  Forty-second  Street 


122  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

in  a  very  comfortable  frame  of  mind.  He  felt  as  light-hearted 
as  a  school-boy,  and  whistled  as  he  crossed  the  park  towards 
the  great  house  whose  massive  front  rose  above  the  neighbor- 
ing chimney-pots.  What  was  she  doing  ?  what  was  she  think- 
ing about  ?  he  wondered.  As  he  went  up  the  steps,  there  was 
the  sound  of  a  window  being  shut  down  in  the  upper  story ; 
but  he  thought  nothing  of  it  as  he  rang  the  bell. 

"  This  card  for  Miss  Tillinghurst,"  he  said  to  the  lackey  who 
opened  the  door,  thrusting  the  pasteboard  into  the  man's  palm 
instead  of  laying  it  on  the  salver. 

' '  Well,  why  don't  you  start  ?  "  as  the  dignitary  in  blue  and 
gold  showed  no  signs  of  moving,  but  eyed  him  stolidly  as  he 
arranged  his  hair  at  the  hall  mirror. 

"  If  you  please,  sir,  Miss  Tillin'urst  is  out,"  he  said  gently. 

"Out!"  exclaimed  Brent,  almost  choking.  "Out!"  he 
echoed. 

' '  Out,  I  said,  sir. " 

"But  I  am  here  by  appointment,"  stammered  the  young 
man.  Then,  suddenly  aware  of  the  absurdity  of  his  position 
in  attempting  to  explain  matters  to  a  flunkey,  he  found 
strength  enough  to  say,  as  he  turned  on  his  heel,  "  Well,  when 
she  comes  in,  give  her  this  card.  I — I  may  call  later." 

The  great  door  swung  behind  him.  The  street  before  him 
seemed  swimming  like  a  river.  There  was  a  mist  wherever 
he  looked,  and  he  had  to  grope  his  way  down  the  steps  by 
holding  on  to  the  balustrade.  The  sword  had  fallen.  She  was 
lost  to  him  forever  ! 

"You  have  been  calling  on  our  friend  over  the  way?" 
asked  a  cheery  voice  at  his  elbow,  as  he  crossed  the  street. 

Captain  Shrike  stood  before  him,  twirling  his  cane  and  look- 
ing at  him  curiously. 

"Yes,"  with  an  attempt  at  a  laugh  to  hide  his  evident 
emotion. 

"  And  they  were  out  ? " 

"  I  do  not  see  why  I  should  answer  you, "  said  Brent,  in  a 
hoarse  voice. 

"  Certainly  not,"  was  the  cool  reply.  "  But  I  was  going  to 
suggest  that  if  you  call  on  Mr.  Tillinghurst  you  will  find  him 
in  his  office.  Marcia  I  just  saw  at  the  window  as  you  were 


THE  BLOW  FALLS.  1^3 

coming  out ; "  and,  with  a  nod,  his  tormentor  strolled  down 
the  avenue. 

Brent  stood  looking  after  him  blankly.  Was  it  true  ?  Had 
she  been  there  all  the  time  ?  He  turned  the  corner  and  looked 
up  at  the  house  again.  But  its  window  eyes  were  blank,  and 
all  the  curtains  drawn.  What  did  it  matter  anyway  ?  She 
had  given  him  up  forever. 

He  staggered  on  without  seeing  where  he  was  going.  The 
wc.-ither  changed  towards  evening  and  a  heavy  rain  fell.  He 
did  not  heed  it,  though  it  wet  him  to  the  skin.  He  saw  noth 
ing ;  he  heard  nothing.  He  ran  into  people  on  his  way,  and 
several  times  came  near  being  beaten  down  by  the  horses'  feet 
in  crossing  the  streets.  When  he  finally  came  to  the  East 
River,  the  noise  around  the  docks  acted  on  his  nerves,  and 
aroused  him  somewhat  from  the  lethargy  into  which  he  had 
fallen. 

Along  the  docks  the  gin-mills  flashed  forth  their  myriad 
lights.  Drunken  stevedores  and  sailors  jostled  each  other  on 
the  sidewalks.  A  man  with  his  face  bleeding  from  a  recent 
wound  was  singing  vociferously  a  song  about  home  and  mother, 
as  he  sat  unsteadily  on  a  fire-plug.  Two  children  fought  over 
a  can  of  beer  they  were  taking  into  a  sailor's  lodging-house, 
whose  windows,  like  bleared  eyes,  looked  out  through  the 
rain. 

The  rattle  of  tins  and  glasses  being  filled  for  thirsty  cus- 
tomers mingled  with  street  sounds.  Brent  shuddered  in  spite 
of  himself,  and  turned  away  and  resumed  his  aimless  journey 
through  the  mist  and  rain.  His  eyeballs  seemed  too  large  for 
their  sockets,  and  pained  him ;  his  heart  seemed  on  fire,  and 
\\.is  consuming  him;  while  his  brain  reeled  and  his  breath 
came  thick  and  hard.  He  crawled  out  to  the  end  of  one  of  the 
wharves,  and  looked  down  on  the  gray  and  sullen  waters  that 
flowed  softly  by  the  shiny  posts  towards  the  sea.  The  mist 
had  blotted  out  the  sight  of  the  city,  and  across  the  gray  ex- 
panse came  the  dull  sound  of  fog-horns.  Lights,  green  and 
blue  and  red,  flitted  like  strange  fire-flies  through  the  misty 
veil  that  hid  the  shipping.  He  reached  out  his  hands  towards 
the  waters,  and  reeled  and  fell. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

» 

ALMOST  A  LIFE. 

ON  the  same  night  that  Captain  Shrike  encountered  Gredge, 
he  had  a  long  interview  with  Mr.  Tillinghurst  in  the  broker's 
private  study.  The  discussion  had  evidently  pleased  him,  for 
he  whistled  to  himself  as  he  made  his  way  down  the  dimly 
lighted  stairs.  The  hour  was  late,  and  the  butler  had  gone  the 
rounds  to  turn  down  the  lights,  so  he  had  to  grope  his  waj- 
towards  the  door.  Even  when  he  stumbled  over  the  hat -rack 
in  his  exit,  the  triumphant  look  never  left  his  face,  and  he 
even  repressed  the  favorite  oath  that  was  always  ready  on  his 
lips. 

John  Tillinghurst  waited  until  the  street-door  clanged  on 
his  departing  visitor,  and  then  returned  to  the  arm-chair  in 
front  of  his  desk,  which  he  sank  into  with  a  sigh.  The  gas- 
light shining  through  the  globe  of  opalescent  glass  showed  a 
pale,  drawn  face  and  quivering  lips.  The  interview  that  was 
just  over  had  changed  him  from  a  genial,  smiling  individual 
into  a  worn  and  tired  old  man.  Could  this  drawn,  despairing 
face  belong  to  the  successful  capitalist  ?  this  limp,  dejected 
form  embody  the  soul  of  the  most  undaunted  financier  of  his 
time  ?  He  hardly  knew  himself  as  he  looked  for  a  moment  in 
the  hand-glass  at  his  side,  and  he  had  to  resort  to  the  decanter 
in  his  closet  a  number  of  times  before  the  color  was  restored 
to  his  pallid,  flabby  cheeks. 

The  glass  shook  so  in  his  quivering  hands  at  first  that  he 
could  hardly  get  it  to  his  lips,  and  he  finally  threw  it  from 
him  with  a  curse,  and  drank  from  the  decanter  long  and  deep. 

"What  a  coward  you  are  getting  to  be  in  your  old  age, 
John !"  he  said  to  himself .  "Brace  up!  it  won't  do  to  show 
the  write  feather  now." 

He  sat  for  some  moments  with  his  head  resting  on  one  of  his 
great  fat  hands,  thinking  very  hard  and  studying  the  coals 
that  sputtered  in  the  grate. 

124 


ALMOST  A  LIFE.  125 

"  Damn  that  Shrike! "  bringing  his  hand  down  on  the  desk 
with  a  blow.  "  Whoever  would  have  thought  that  he  would 
round  on  me  this  way  ?  Been  playing  with  me  all  along  like 
a  cat  with  a  mouse,  and  having  enjoyed  himself  at  that  game, 
is  ready  to  pounce  on  me  any  moment  and  chew  me  up.  Yes, 
that's  it;  chew  me  up." 

The  rustling  of  the  curtain  startled  him,  and  he  closed  the 
inside  shutters. 

"He's  got  me  hard  and  fast,  curse  him!"  he  muttered,  walk- 
ing up  and  down  the  room;  "right  down  under  his  feet, 
where  he  can  stamp  me  out  if  he  wants  to ;  where  I've  got 
many  a  man,  many  a  man ;  "  and  a  sickly  smile  puckered  up 
his  tallowy  cheeks. 

Then  he  straightened  himself  up,  and  the  light  revived  in  his 
eyes. 

"  But  I've  been  up  so  long  that  I  can't  get  down  in  the  dirt, 
and  live  like  a  dog  again.  I  did  when  I  was  young.  I'd  do 
most  anything  rather  than  go  back  to  that.  Curse  the  luck ! 
How  did  he  get  hold  of  that  story  ?  I  might  have  died  here 
in  peace  but  for  that  damned,  meddling  scoundrel.  What's 
to  be  done  ?  I  mustn't  let  him  walk  over.  I  mustn't ;  I  won't. 
I've  weathered  too  many  tough  storms  to  hunt  a  hole  now. 
What's  to  be  done  ?  "  seating  himself  again  by  the  fire,  and 
relapsing  into  thought. 

For  fully  five  minutes  he  sat  there,  with  his  eyes  on  the  fire. 
An  impatient  exclamation  from  time  to  time  broke  from  his 
lips,  as  his  thoughts  revealed  the  hopelessness  of  his  situation, 
that  he  was  hemmed  in  from  all  sides,  that  an  impenetrable 
wall  hid  his  future.  The  clock  ticked  merrily  on  the  mantel- 
piece. The  fire,  flaming  up  in  weird  tongues  of  flame,  covered 
the  walls  with  strange  shivering  shadows. 

"He  must  have  Marcia,"  he  muttered.  "If  she  consents 
there  will  be  no  disgrace."  His  thoughts  wandered  off  again. 
"  But  she  won't  consent— never !  I  saw  that  last  night  when  I 
hinted  that  I  should  like  him  for  a  son-in-law.  It  roused  the 
devil  in  her.  She  hates  him.  It  blazed  out  of  her  eyes.  That 
moment  I  couldn't  help  being  proud  of  her.  She  was  glori- 
ous!" 

The  clock  ticked  on.  The  heavy  breathing  of  the  man  could 
be  distinctly  heard  as  he  bent  over  the  fire. 


126  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

"  The  only  way  out  of  it  is  for  her  to  sacrifice  herself  for  my 
sake.  She'd  do  it  in  a  minute  if  I  asked  her. "  A  light  came 
into  his  eyes  that  softened  the  lines  in  his  gross,  sordid  face, 
making  his  expression  soft  and  gentle.  "  But  shall  I  let  her  ? 
Shall  I  let  her  ruin  her  life  ?  and — and  when  she  loves  another 
— and  that  other  the  man — the  man — "  his  words  sank  into  a 
whisper  and  he  moved  uneasily. 

"  No,  no,"  he  cried  fiercely,  starting  up;  "she's  young  and 
bright,  and  all  life  is  before  her.  I'm  old  and  battered,  and 
might  drop  out  any  time,  and  small  loss  it  would  be.  She 
mustn't  suffer  for  my  crime,  sacrifice  herself  for  my  sin.  I'm 
a  damned  coward  to  think  of  such  a  thing.  John,  be  a  man 
for  once  in  your  life.  You've  done  some  dirty  things  in  your 
time;  wipe  'em  out  with  one  generous  act."  His  face  grew 
transfigured  for  a  moment,  and  he  drew  himself  up  to  his  full 
height,  as  he  walked  firmly  over  to  his  desk. 

"If  I  was  out  of  the  way,"  he  whispered,  with  one  hand  on 
the  knob  of  the  upper  drawer.  "  If  I  was  out  of  the  way,"  he 
repeatedly  softly,  "Shrike  might  do  his  worst  and  hurt 
nobody.  She  would  be  free  to  marry  the  man  she  loves,  and 
I  should  be  forgotten  by  Brent,  if  not  forgiven. " 

With  nervous  hands  he  opened  the  drawer,  as  if  in  haste 
lest  he  should  change  his  mind.  A  handsome  pair  of  French 
duelling  pistols  lay  before  him.  He  took  them  out  of  the  case 
and  flung  them  on  the  table,  the  firelight  flashing  on  the  pol- 
ished barrels. 

"  Stocks  will  be  cheap  to-morrow,"  he  said,  smiling  grimly ; 
"  the  big  bull  of  the  market  will  have  gone  to  grass." 

He  stood  looking  at  the  pistols  for  some  moments,  and  then 
began  nervously  and  hastily  to  examine  the  charges.  They 
seemed  all  right.  How  devilish  the  instruments  of  death 
looked,  as  the  fire  shining  on  the  steel  seemed  to  touch  them 
with  flame. 

He  cocked  one  pistol  with  a  steady  hand  and  pointed  it 
towards  his  breast.  His  lips  were  drawn  firmly  together  in 
that  peculiar  way  his  opponents  in  the  business  world  under- 
stood to  mean  mischief  and  determination.  He  could  count 
every  tick  of  the  clock  as  his  thumb  bore  down  on  the  trigger, 
but  it  seemed  scarcely  as  loud  as  the  beating  of  his  own 
heart. 


ALMOST  A  LIFE.  127 

The  hammer  fell,  but  there  was  only  a  click.  The  cartridge 
did  not  go  off.  He  flung  it  from  him  with  a  curse,  and  took 
up  the  other  pistol.  This  cartridge  he  examined  carefully. 
He  was  trembling  now,  the  tension  on  his  nerves  had  been 
so  great.  The  loading  was  all  right;  there  could  be  no  mis- 
take this  time  in  its  going  off. 

He  was  quivering  as  he  pointed  the  muzzle  towards  his 
breast  and  fired,  just  as  something  struck  his  arm.  The 
sound  of  the  explosion  in  the  closed  room  dazed  him.  He 
hardly  knew  what  had  taken  place,  except  that  he  had  been 
miraculously  saved — that  he  was  still  alive. 

A  strange  sense  of  gratitude  welled  up  in  the  heart  of  the 
man  who  a  few  minutes  ago  had  been  eager  to  die.  A  love  of 
living  had  returned  to  him.  He  thanked  God  in  his  heart. 
Marcia  was  crouching  at  his  feet,  sobbing.  The  sight  of  her 
revived  all  the  bitter  thoughts. 

"  What  did  you  do  it  for,  Marsh?  "  he  gasped.  "  What  did 
you  do  it  for?"  staring  wild-eyed  at  his  daughter's  face,  as 
she  kneeled  at  his  feet,  her  dark  hair  falling  on  her  white 
wrapper  like  a  mantle.  "  Why  didn't  ye  let  me  go?  You 
don't  know,  Marsh,  what  pain  it  might  have  saved  ye  if  that 
bullet  had  only  found  its  mark." 

"What  do  you  mean,  papa?  I  don't  understand,"  she  said 
tremulously,  raising  her  tear-stained  face  to  his.  ' '  You  don't 
know  what  you  are  saying, "  bursting  again  into  tears. 

"Yes,  I  do,"  he  replied  huskily;  "yes,  I  do,  Marsh,  and  I 
ain't  liable  never  to  forget  it.  I'll  tell  ye  what  ye  brought 
me  back  to  life  again  for.  It's  to  rot  my  old  bones  away  in 
a  mouldy  jail,  with  murderers  and  cut-throats  and  robbers 
—and—" 

"  Hush! "  laying  her  hand  on  his  mouth;  "  you  are  raving. 
Calm  yourself— you  are  mad." 

"  I  wish  I  was — I  wish  I  was;  but  it's  all  God's  gospel,  as  I 
stand  here  a  miserable  wretch  brought  back  from  death.  Sit 
here,  Marsh,"  lifting  her  into  a  chair.  "I'll  tell  ye  why  I 
wanted  to  end  the  game  to-night,  and  would  have  if  you  had 
not  turned  up  as  you  did." 

She  looked  at  him  wild-eyed,  as  if  still  doubtful  of  his  sanity, 
but  listened. 

"  Captain  Shrike  has  been  here  to-night.    We  had  a  long 


128  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

talk,"  he  rattled  on  nervously.  "  Somewhere— somehow— I 
don't  know— he  has  got  hold  of  a  secret — a  secret  that  con- 
cerns me.  I  am  in— I  am  in  his  grip.  He  can  squeeze  the  life 
out  of  me  whenever  he  wants  t6.  He  can  make  my  name  a 
disgrace  in  New  York,  in  the  country.  He  can  ruin  us  both 
forever." 

He  covered  his  face  with  his  hands.  ,  His  breathing  could  be 
distinctly  heard  above  the  ticking  of  the  clock. 

Marcia  sat  staring  at  the  wall  as  if  carven  out  of  stone. 
Once  or  twice  she  moved  her  lips  as  if  to  speak,  but  no  words 
came.  Finally  she  whispered : 

"  What  was  this — this  crime  of  which  you  speak? " 

"  I  took  some  money  when  I  was  a  poor  devil  which  did  not 
belong  to  me.  It  was  the  capital  out  of  which  I  made  my 
fortune." 

Her  set  lips  moved:  "We  will  give  up  every  cent — we  will 
go  out  of  this  house  empty-handed,  and  leave  every  penny, 
beg,  starve — 

He  shook  his  head  sadly,  slowly :  "  It  is  not  money  that 
will  buy  his  silence. " 

"What  then?" 

"You." 

He  looked  at  her  wonderingly,  curiously,  a  wistful  expres- 
sion in  his  eyes.  Why  did  she  not  speak?  The  fixed  glance 
frightened  him.  But  for  a  slight  shudder  that  she  gave  as  he 
spoke,  he  might  have  imagined  that  she  did  not  hear.  The 
color  had  entirely  left  her  face.  With  great  mournful  eyes 
riveted  on  the  wall,  and  her  long  hair  falling  about  her  in 
disorder,  she  looked  like  the  Christian  maiden  in  the  arena  of 
the  Roman  Coliseum,  awaiting  the  spring  of  the  tiger  that 
was  to  bring  her  death. 

How  long  they  sat  there  silent  neither  knew  or  cared.  The 
clock  ticked  on,  the  fire  smouldered  and  grew  cold  on  the 
hearth.  The  gray  light  of  morning  filtered  through  the  half- 
closed  shutters  and  fell  upon  the  girl's  white  face  and  quiver- 
ing lips,  and  on  the  limp  figure  of  the  millionaire,  a  huddled 
heap  by  his  desk.  His  face  was  buried  in  his  hands ;  he  seemed 
oblivious  of  her  presence. 

At  last  her  eyes  fell  upon  him  as  he  sat  there  so  full  of  de- 


ALMOST  A  LIFE.  129 

spair.  She  crept  over  to  his  side  and  laid  one  hand  softly 
on  the  grief-bowed  head. 

"  Papa,"  she  murmured ;  "  papa." 

He  did  not  stir. 

She  hent  nearer  and  whispered  in  his  ear: 

"  Papa,  Captain  Shrike  shall  be  paid  his  price." 

"  Oh,  Marsh!  "  he  cried,  starting  to  his  feet  and  opening  his 
arms  wide ;  but  she  had  glided  away. 

He  turned  back  into  the  room  again  with  faltering  steps. 

"  Well— I— I— didn't  ask  her  to  do  it,"  he  tried  to  comfort 
himself  by  saying. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 
BKENT'S  NEW  HOME. 

THE  first  sign  of  returning  consciousness  that  John  Brent 
experienced  was  in  dull  pains  that  felt  like  a  drill  working 
slowly  through  his  brain.  Gradually  the  balls  of  fire  that 
were  floating  before  his  eyes  settled  into  a  steady  glare.  He 
moved  uneasily,  and  struck  out  blindly  with  one  hand.  Then 
he  rubbed  his  eyes,  that  seemed  full  of  burning  heat,  and 
Looked  wonderingly  around  him.  What  he  saw  was  a  dirty 
window,  with  one  pane  filled  up  with  greasy  tin,  through 
which  the  noonday  sun  filtered  feebly.  The  four  walls  were  of 
a  sickly  green  color,  like  the  scun\  on  a  mill-pond,  and  they 
oozed  moisture,  and  smelt  damp  and  grave-like.  A  rat 
scurried  across  the  floor  as  he  raised  his  head,  and  regarded 
him  for  a  moment  critically  with  its  sharp  little  eyes,  before 
diving  into  its  hole  with  a  farewell  squeak  of  surprise  or  won- 
der. There  was  no  furniture  in  the  room  but  an  old  soap-box 
that  looked  strangely  out  of  place  in  such  surroundings,  and 
the  bed  on  which  he  was  lying.  He  noticed  then  that  though 
the  room  was  dingy,  everything  was  clean  about  the  bed,  from 
the  unbleached  muslin  sheets  to  the  log-cabin  quilt.  Where 
Brent  was  he  could  not  imagine,  and  his  heavy  brain  refused 
to  struggle  with  the  problem.  He  felt  bruised,  as  if  he  had 
been  beaten  with  clubs ;  and  all  he  cared  to  do  was  to  lie  on  his 
back  in  a  half-doze  and  watch  a  great  spider  swinging  on  an 
aerial  trapeze  above  his  head.  It  was  raining  without,  and 
the  steady  patter  of  the  drops  tinkling  on  the  pane  seemed  to 
soothe  him  and  quiet  the  throbs  of  his  brain,  the  jumping 
pains  that  felt  as  if  some  one  was  cracking  his  skull  with  a 
hammer  and  cold  chisel. 

He  was  drifting  off  into  another  troubled  sleep  again,  when 
he  heard  the  sound  of  shuffling,  slippered  feet  by  the  door.  A 
preliminary  cough  announced  that  some  one  was  coming. 

"  Are  you  all  right  ?"  asked  a  cheery  voice;  and  a  tousled 

130 


BRENT'S  NEW  HOME.  131 

head,  covered  with  yellow  hair,  was  stuck  grotesquely  through 
the  crack  of  the  door. 

"  What,  Joe  Skerritt  ? "  asked  Brent,  turning  so  quickly  that 
he  gave  his  bruised  arm  a  painful  wrench.  "  Is  it  really  you, 
Joe  ? " 

"Now,  don't  say  a  word,"  was  the  rejoinder.  "  Mother  says 
you  ain't  to  open  your  head  until  you  has  a  cup  of  tea." 

"Come  in,  I  want  to  speak  to  you,"  noticing  for  the  first 
time  that  he  could  only  turn  his  head  with  difficulty. 

"  Must  obey  orders,"  growled  Joe,  slouching  into  the  room 
in  an  embarrassed  way,  and  taking  a  seat  on  the  soap-box  by 
the  bed. 

"  Now,  then,  Joe;  I  want  you  to  answer  some  questions." 

"Yes,  sir,"  working  with  a  loose  button  on  his  coat  and 
looking  like  a  culprit.  "  But  you  hadn't  ought  to  talk  much, 
sir,"  with  an  air  of  mild  protestation. 

"I  won't,"  said  Brent.  "Just  tell  me  in  as  few  words  as 
possible  what  I  am  doing  here,  where  I  came  from,  and,  in 
short,  all  you  know." 

"  Well,  there  ain't  much  to  tell,  Mr.  Brent.  You — you  see 
— I  went  out  to  find  old  man  Bowker,  who's  been  on  a  bender, 
and  try  and  fetch  the  old  chap  home — an' — an'  I  got  down  by 
the  docks  where  he  hangs  out  when  he's  in  liquor,  an' — an'  I 
seen  you  actin'  kind  o'  strange  on  the  end  of  one  of  them  piers, 
an'  I  laid  low  behind  a  cotton-bale,  and  when  you  went  all  of 
a  heap  and  came  near  tumblin'  into  the  river,  I  hauled  you 
home.  You  was  took  dreadful  bad  with  fhe  fever,  and  didn't 
know  nobody,  whisperin'  and  singin'  and  actin'  most  strange. 
I  brought  you  here  'cause  I  didn't  know  what  else  to  do." 

"  And  what  is  here  ? " 

"  Well,  this  is  Bolger's  Court." 

"  And  where  you  live  ? " 

"Yes,  sir.  It  ain't  much  of  a  place,"  apologetically— "that 
is,  for  the  likes  of  you — but —  " 

"Joe,"  cried  Brent,  "  you  are  an  angel !  " 

"Oh,  no,  indeed  I  ain't,"  exclaimed  the  other. 

"Yes,  you  are;  don't  contradict  me.  You  took  care  of  me 
when  I  was  alone  in  the  world,  when  I  had  no  place  to  turn. 
I  thought  I  didn't  have  a  friend,  but,  by  God,  I  believe  you 
are  worth  the  whole  pack  that  I  lost." 


132  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

Joe  blushed  to  the  roots  of  his  hair.  "You — you  mustn't 
excite  yourself,  sir ;  it  might  bring  on  [the  fever  again,  mother 
says. " 

"  I  won't,  Joe,  I  won't.  But  just  one  question  more:  is  this 
your  room  ? " 

"Ye-e-e-s,"  reluctantly. 

"  Just  as  I  thought.    And  how  long  have  I  lain  here  ? " 

"Two  weeks." 

"  Two  weeks! "  exclaimed  Brent,  and  the  words  went  echo- 
ing through  his  brain. 

It  was  a  long  time  to  be  away  from  the  world.  He  won- 
dered what  new  turn  the  wheel  of  fortune  had  taken  in  those 
fourteen  days.  Was  she  —  ?  But  no,  he  did  not  want  to 
think  about  her.  He  did  not  want  to  think  at  all.  It  made 
his  head  ache. 

"  Joe,"  he  said,  after  a  moment's  silence;    "  Joe." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Now  don't  call  me  sir,  or  we  shall  quarrel.  Call  me 
Jack." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  was  the  meek  response. 

"Did— did  I  say  much  when  I  was  delirious — anything 
about  what  led  me  down  to  the  pier  that  night  ? " 

"Well,"  said  Joe,  twisting  his  hat  in  his  hands  nervously, 
and  hesitating  to  speak,  "you  did  certainly  say  a  good  deal, 
but  it  was  mostly  mixed  up.  Anyway,"  his  face  lighting  up, 
"no  one  could  have  heard  what  you  said  but  me — 'cause — 
'cause  I  kept  everybody  away." 

Brent's  hand  closed  over  Joe's  red,  pudgy  fingers  with  a 
warm  and  hearty  grasp.  "  But  you  must  have  known  that — 
that  I  had  no  friends—that  I  had  broken  with  them  all. " 

"I  knowed  that  you'd  had  some  trouble  with  old  Til- 
linghurst — that  he'd  been  cuttin'  up  rough  with  you,  and 
that- 

"  We  won't  speak  of  that,"  said  Brent  sadly,  as  if  he  divined 
that  Joe  was  going  to  say  something  about  Marcia.  He  wanted 
to  try  and  make  believe  that  he  had  come  on  a  visit  to  Bolger's 
Court,  and  that  the  events  of  the  past  had  only  been  a  part  of 
his  delirium. 

"You  can  be  sure,"  said  Joe  finally,  as  if  he  guessed 
what  was  running  in  the  other's  mind,  "  that  whatever.  I  did 


BRENT'S  NEW  HOME.  133 

hear  while  you  was  sick,  it  won't  never  go  any  further.  I  am 
a  reg'lar  oyster,  I  am,  for  knowin'  how  and  when  to  shut  up. " 

"It's  a  very  good  fault,"  said  Brent,  with  a  faint  smile. 
"I'm  sure  I  couldn't  confide  a  secret  into  better  keeping  than 
to  you,  Joe.  You  are  treating  me  a  great  deal  better  than  I 
deserve." 

"  You  were  very  kind  to  me  at  the  mill,  sir,  very.  We  fel- 
lows that  has  to  work  for  a  livin'  don't  always  forget  favors. 
But  there !  I've  been  chatterin'  away  here,  when  mother  told 
me  to  fetch  you  a  cup  of  tea  as  soon  as  you'd  woke  up.  I 
won't  be  a  minute;  "  and  he  shuffled  out  of  the  room  as  noise- 
lessly as  the  great  flapping  carpet  slippers  he  wore  would 
allow. 

A  mist  came  into  Brent's  eyes  as  he  thought  of  this  poor 
fellow's  unselfish  kindness.  The  few  encouraging  words  he 
had  said  to  Joe  at  the  mills  had  borne  golden  fruit.  He  did  not 
feel  the  misery  of  his  position  so  keenly  now  since  he  had  a 
friend,  and  a  true  one.  A  love  of  living  returned  to  him.  He 
had  wanted  to  die  that  night  when  he  knew  that  Marcia  had 
forgotten  him,  but  now  that  it  was  over  he  felt  as  if  the  fiery 
trials  through  which  he  had  so  lately  passed  had  done  him 
good.  What  had  happened  had  sobered  him  down  materially. 
He  was  not  the  gay,  careless,  vacillating  young  man  about 
town  who  had  given  New  York  so  much  to  talk  about. 

He  made  up  his  mind  that  for  the  present  he  would  make 
his  home  with  the  Skerritts  in  Bolger's  Court.  Perhaps  an 
opportunity  would  come  when  he  might  be  able  to  return  the 
kindness  they  had  lavished  on  him  during  his  long  illness. 
He  remembered  then  that  he  had  some  money  in  his  pocket  on 
that  day  of  disaster,  some  bills  he  had  drawn  out  of  the  bank 
to  buy — yes,  to  buy  an  engagement  ring.  There  was  another 
ring  on  that  finger  now,  he  thought  sadly.  He  did  not  want 
to  think  about  Marcia  at  all ;  but  it  was  not  so  easy  to  blot  out 
memories  that  were  burnt  into  his  very  nature.  He  heard  her 
voice  in  the  tinkle  of  the  rain  on  the  glass,  and  the  rustle  of 
her  dress  in  the  whispers  of  the  wind.  Looking  around  the 
room  again,  he  saw  that  the  suit  of  clothes  he  had  worn  on 
that  eventful  day  was  piled  up  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  care- 
fully brushed  and  folded.  Near  them  was  a  shirt,  glossy 
with  starch,  done  up  in  Mrs.  Skerritt's  best  style.  It  seemed 


134  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

to  Brent  that  wherever  his  eye  turned  he  found  some  fresh 
traces  of  the  kindness  of  this  poor  family,  and  his  heart 
swelled  with  gratitude. 

He  found  his  money  all  safe  in  the  watch-pocket  where  he 
had  stowed  it  away.  It  gave  him  new  courage  to  feel  the 
crisp  bank-notes  in  his  hands,  for  now  he  might  indirectly  be 
able  to  repay  the  Skerritts  for  their  kindness.  He  saw  that 
there  was  enough  money  for  him  to  live  upon  for  several 
months  to  come,  and  then,  if  the  worst  came,  he  could  fall 
back  on  his  watch  and  diamond  studs.  Altogether  he  was  not 
so  badly  off.  His  condition  of  mental  misery  was  not  so  pain- 
ful as  he  had  imagined  it  would  be  under  the  circumstances. 
He  was  young  and  of  a  naturally  buoyant  temperament, 
and  if  he  could  only  get  some  work,  and  hard  work,  he  argued 
to  himself,  he  could  in  time  live  down  the  old  life,  and  per- 
haps forget  that  it  had  ever  existed.  His  head  was  still  spin- 
ning, but  a  nervous  impulse  made  him  get  up  and  dress.  Joe, 
entering  noiselessly  with  a  cup  of  tea  and  a  toasted  bun  in 
his  hand,  was  surprised  to  see  his  patient  climbing  into  his 
trousers. 

"  Say,  this  is  against  orders,  ye  know,"  he  said,  with  a  mild 
look  of  remonstrance.  ' '  You  wasn't  to  get  up  for  a  week  yet," 
laying  the  breakfast  down  on  the  soap-box. 

"  Oh,  pshaw,  Joe;  I'm  all  right,  "exclaimed  Brent  cheerfully ; 
" a  little  stiff  in  the  joints;  that's  all.  Perhaps  you  can  lend 
me  a  razor  to  get  rid  of  this  beard,"  rubbing  with  nervous  fin- 
gers the  stubby  growth  of  hair  that  had  accumulated  during 
his  illness. 

Joe  was  off  in  a  minute  to  get  the  required  article,  and 
handed  it  to  Brent  with  a  doubtful  expression  on  his  face. 

"I  don't  know  as  I  can  recommend  it,  sir.  I  lent  it  to  old 
man  Bowker  the  other  day,  and  it's  my  opinion  he  used  it  to 
open  oysters  with.  You  might  try  the  heel ;  that's  the  only 
place  that  don't  seem  to  be  all  nicked  up." 

"  Oh,  I  dare  say  it  will  do  very  well,"  said  Brent  cheerfully, 
lathering  himself  with  a  liberal  hand,  while  Joe  helped  him 
by  holding  the  cup. 

He  saw  by  the  broken  mirror  between  the  window's,  as  he 
shaved,  that  his  face  had  strangely  altered  since  his  illness, 
and  looked  pale  and  haggard.  It  seemed  as  if  he  had  added 


BRENT'S  NEW  HOME.  135 

fully  ten  years  to  his  life  since  the  night  Joe  had  found  him 
on  the  pier. 

"What  are  you  doing  now,  Joe? "  he  asked,  as  he  finished 
the  painful  duty,  and  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  and 
began  to  devour  the  frugal  breakfast  greedily.  ' '  I  suppose  the 
mills  are  still  closed,  and  the  strike  continues,  eh  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  we're  still  out,"  said  Joe,  with  a  sigh.  "  And  from 
the  looks  of  things  about  town,  there  don't  seem  to  be  any 
chance  of  the  mills  startin'  up  again.  The  weeks  you've  been 
sick,  sir,  has  been  terrible  ones  for  workin'  folks.  Almost 
every  factory's  closed,  and  the  streets  is  jest  full  of  people  out 
of  jobs.  I  guess  we  ain't  seen  the  worst  of  these  strikes  yet. 
So  many  idlers  ain't  going  to  starve  in  a  rich  city  like  this 
without  kickin'  up  a  row.  They  goes  prowlin'  around  like  a 
lot  o'  tigers,  some  of  them  foreigners,  as  if  they'd  like  to  eat 
somebody  raw,  with  a  slice  of  lemon." 

' '  I  hope  you  haven't  mixed  yourself  up  in  any  of  these 
labor  troubles,  Joe? " 

"  Well,  I  has  to  stand  by  the  Brotherhood,  of  course,  'cause 
I  belong  to  it.  It's  the  third  week  now  since  we  left  the  mills," 
with  another  sigh. 

"And  how  have  you  managed  to  live  all  that  time?" 
asked  Brent,  with  his  mouth  full  of  bread  and  tea. 

"  Oh,  we  had  a  few  dollars  saved  up — we — " 

"Who's  we?" 

' '  Why,  Malvina  and  me.  I  had  a  little  money  laid  by  to 
get  furniture  with  when  we  were  married,  but  that's  all  going ; 
slow  but  sure. " 

"Why,  don't  the  Brotherhood  provide  for  you  after  order- 
ing the  strike  ? "  asked  Brent,  in  amazement. 

"  They  did  at  first,  but  I've  only  had  two  dollars  from  the 
treasurer  this  week.  Ye  see,  there  is  so  many  strikes  going 
on  about  town  and  in  the  neighborhood  that  there  ain't 
enough  money  to  go  around.  I'm  a  good  bit  better  off  than 
the  married  men,  though.  I  don't  see  how  they  stand  it 
nohow." 

"It  must  be  hard  all  around,"  said  Brent.  "But  don't  you 
get  discouraged,  Joe.  If  I  ever  get  on  my  feet  again,  I'll  see 
that  you  don't  suffer,"  laying  his  hand  kindly  on  the  other's 
shoulder. 


136  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

"Now,  don't,"  said  Joe,  almost  ready  to  blubber.  "We 
ain't  done  anything  at  all  for  you  to  make  such  a  fuss  about. 
I'm  downright  glad  to  see  you  here  in  the  house,  though 
wishin'  the  'commodations  was  better." 

"They  are  much  better  than  I  deserve,  I  dare  say,"  said 
Brent  seriously.  "And  now,  Joe,"  he  cried  cheerfully,  "that 
I  have  slept  and  eaten  and  arranged  my  toilet,  take  me  to  see 
your  excellent  mother  that  I  may  thank  her  for  her  kind- 
ness. " 

"I'll  let  you  see  her,"  said  Joe  with  a  laugh;  "but  you 
don't  want  to  thank  her,  She  don't  like  it — says  it  flustrates 
her." 

Brent  promising  that  he  would  not,  young  Mr.  Skerritt  piloted 
him  through  the  tortuous  passage-ways  of  Bolger's  Court  to 
a  neighboring  room,  where  Mrs.  Skerritt  was  found,  as  usual, 
half-way  into  a  wash-tub,  surrounded  by  an  incongruous 
assortment  of  remarkable  underclothes,  stretched  on  lines 
across  the  room.  She  was  surprised  to  see  him  out  of  bed  so 
soon,  but  when  she  had  dried  her  hands,  she  gave  him  a 
hearty  welcome,  and  he  felt  more  at  home  than  he  had  since 
he  came  to  New  York.  He  was  glad  indeed  that  his  lines  had 
fallen  in  such  pleasant  places,  as  they  fixed  up  an  arm-chair 
for  him  out  of  reach  of  the  flying  suds,  where  he  could  toast 
himself  by  the  fire  and  look  out  on  the  street.  It  was  pleasant 
for  him  to  sit  there  and  rest,  in  that  homely  room,  with  the 
old  woman's  quaint  speeches  to  break  in  on  his  thoughts  when 
they  threatened  to  become  disagreeable,  and  Joe's  kindly  face 
beaming  upon  him  through  the  row  of  flaming  red  shirts,  like 
a  benignant  blonde  cherub. 

The  spirit  of  home  thrived  in  that  air,  misty  with  suds  and 
redolent  of  brown  soap,  There  was  a  soothing  song  in  the 
gurgle  of  the  teapot  on  the  hob,  and  a  whole  eloquent  address 
of  welcome  in  the  crackling  logs  in  the  old  brick  fire-place. 

A  great  peace  seemed  to  fill  John  Brent's  mind  as  he  sat 
there,  such  as  he  had  not  known  in  all  the  months  of  bustle 
and  excitement  and  dissipation,  when  he  had  passed  from  one 
pleasure  to  another  in  a  vain  search  for  the  waters  of  happi- 
ness. 

For  the  present  he  made  up  his  mind  that  he  could  not  do 
better  than  live  with  the  Skerritts,  and  indirectly  he  thought 


BRENTS  NEW  HOME.  137 

he  might  be  able  [to  make  them  some  return  for  all  their 
trouble.  He  knew,  the  first  time  that  he  saw  Mrs.  Skerritt's 
broad,  homely  face,  that  to  offer  her  money  would  be  an 
insult ;  but  he  argued  that  he  could  do  much  by  strategy  for 
their  comfort.  He  spoke  to  Joe  about  staying  at  Bolger's 
Court. 

"Just  what  I  was  hoping  you'd  do,  on'y  I  didn't  dare  sug- 
gest it,"  was  that  young  man's  reply.  "There's  just  the  room 
you  want,  near  mine.  Feller  that  used  to  live  in  it  was  a 
switchman  on  the  Elevated,  and  got  run  over."  Cheerfully, 
' '  It's  one  of  the  driest  rooms  in  the  house ;  you  can  get  it  for  a 
dollar  and  a  half  a  week,  and  eat  your  meals  with  us  if  you 
think  you  can  stand  mother's  cooking." 

Brent  had  a  look  at  the  room,  and  found  it  light  and  dry. 
Mrs.  Skerritt  consented  to  buy  him  a  bed  and  stove  and  some 
few  pieces  of  furniture  at  the  second-hand  dealer's  on  the 
corner,  that  afternoon;  so  he  lost  no  time  in  clinching  the 
bargain.  At  Joe's  suggestion,  he  bought  a  common  suit  of 
working  clothes,  for  a  diagonal  cutaway  and  tweed  trousers 
looked  rather  out  of  place  in  Bolger's  Court.  He  wondered, 
when  he  put  on  his  new  suit,  if  his  friends  would  be  able  to 
recognize,  in  the  slim-looking  man  in  overalls  and  blue-plaid 
jumper  and  flannel  shirt,  the  debonair  and  graceful  leader 
of  the  german,  John  Brent. 

He  supped  that  evening  with  the  family.  Malvina,  who 
had  dropped  in  to  tea,  was  rather  disconcerted  at  his  presence, 
which  she  illustrated  by  blushing  furiously  every  time  he 
looked  at  her ;  and  she  came  several  times  near  choking  when 
his  foot  happened  to  touch  hers  by  mistake  under  the  table. 

The  menu  was  not  elaborate,  but  Brent  was  surprised  at  the 
partiality  he  evinced  for  such  homely  fare  as  bread  and  tea 
and  baked  beans.  As  for  the  conversation,  it  was  principally 
on  the  subject  of  strikes ;  but  he  felt  at  home  and  at  ease,  and 
after  a  pipe  with  Joe,  he  retired  to  his  new  room,  encouraged 
in  spirit,  and  feeling  a  new  hope  in  his  heart,  a  new  strength 
for  the  struggle. 


.       CHAPTER  XVIII. 

MARCIA  HEARS  SOME  BAD  NEWS. 

Mr.  JOHN  TILLINGHURST  was  in  an  excellent  mood  that  after- 
noon, as  he  tapped  lightly  on  the  door  of  his  daughter's  room 
with  a  neatly-gloved  hand.  He  was  dressed  more  sprucely 
than  usual,  with  a  clove  pink  in  his  button-hole,  and  he  swung 
a  youthful-looking  cane  back  and  forth,  as  he  stood  impatiently 
on  the  threshold. 

"  Marcia,"  he  called,  as  his  knock  was  not  answered. 

"  Come  in,"  said  a  voice  faintly. 

He  walked  in  with  a  quick  stride,  and  then  paused  in  the 
middle  of  the  room  and  looked  at  his  daughter  curiously. 
"Come— come,  what  does  this  mean?  Why,  you  haven't 
begun  to  dress  yet,  and  it's  half-past  four,"  taking  out  his 
watch  and  snapping  it  with  an  angry  click. 

"  I  am  not  going,"  said  Marcia,  looking  up  at  him  as  she  lay 
extended  on  the  sofa,  her  head  resting  on  one  arm. 

"How's  that?"  asked  Mr.  Tillinghurst,  tapping  his  boots 
impatiently  with  his  cane,  though  he  heard  perfectly  well.- 

"I  said  I  was  not  going,"  she  repeated,  slowly. 

"But,  Marcia,  you — you  must  come;  think  what  a  predica- 
ment you  put  Captain  Shrike  in.  Here's  his  cousin,  Mrs. 
Townsend,  has  given  this  reception,  and  asked  people  to  meet 
you.  Don't — don't  make  a  fool  of  me  too." 

She  did  not  seem  to  hear  what  he  was  saying,  and  he  re- 
garded her  wonderingly. 

"  Come,  Marcia,  now  do  this  to  please  me.  You  ain't  like 
most  girls.  You  can  dress  in  ten  minutes  if  you  want  to.  I 
don't  ask  you  for  a  favor  very  often. " 

She  looked  at  him  steadily  for  a  moment,  and  he  cowered. 
His  mind  went  back  to  that  scene  one  morning  in  his  study. 

"  You  can  easily  beg  me  off,  papa,"  she  said  wearily,  after 
neither  of  them  had  spoken  for  several  minutes.  "If  Captain 
Shrike  chooses  to  make  engagements  for  me,  he  cannot  expect 

138 


MARCIA  HEARS  SOME  BAD  NEWS.  139 

me  to  keep  them.  I  don't  feel  like  going — my  head  aches 
horribly." 

"  But  it  will  only  be  for  an  hour  or  so,"  he  pleaded. 

"  I  cannot  help  it,  papa;  I  cannot  help  it,"  she  cried,  cover- 
ing her  face  with  her  hands.  "Oh,  tell  them  anything  you 
please.  Can't  you  see  that  I  am  miserable,  that  I  can  hardly 
hold  my  head  up ;"  and  she  burst  into  an  uncontrollable  fit  of 
weeping  that  shook  her  body  spasmodically,  as  she  swayed  to 
and  fro  with  her  face  buried  in  her  hands. 

In  his  clumsy  way,  Mr.  Tillinghurst  felt  sorry  for  her,  and 
pitied  her  tears.  He  put  down  his  cane,  and  came  nearer  to 
her,  and  laid  his  great  red  hand  gently  on  her  shoulder.  ' 

"Why  will  you  think  of  him,  Marsh?"  he  asked.  "He 
wasn't  worth  a  thought.  Do  you  think  if  he  had  cared  so 
much  about  ye  he  Avould  have  sneaked  away  as  he  did,  with 
never  a  word  to  no  one,  and  without  saying  good-bye  even.  I 
hate  to  see  you  waste  a  thought  on  him." 

"  How  do  you  know  he  did  not  say  good-bye  to  me  before  he 
went  away?"  she  demanded,  raising  her  tear-stained  face 
defiantly  towards  him.  "How  do  you  know?  " 

Tillinghurst  turned  his  head  away ;  he  saw  he  had  made  a 
mistake.  "  Well — well,"  he  stammered,  "  of  course,  I  had  no 
way  of  finding  out  for  certain;  but — but  then  you  never  said 
anything  about  his  calling,  and  so— and  so — I  of  course 
imagined— imagined  that  he  had  not  done  so,"  turning  his  hat 
around  in  his  hands  nervously,  and  looking  like  a  school-boy 
who  was  going  to  recite.  "You  saw  him,  then?"  he  asked, 
looking  at  her  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye. 

"No, "she  said,  slowly  and  distinctly.  "You  had  trained 
your  servant  too  well  for  that.  Now  don't  add  a  lie  to  what 
you  have  done,"  as  he  was  about  to  speak.  "  John  told  me  all 
about  it  before  he  went  away — that  he  was  paid  to  tell  Mr. 
Brent  that  I  was  out  when  he  came  in  answer  to  my  appoint- 
ment. You  see,  you  made  a  mistake  in  discharging  a  servant 
who  had  been  so  faithful  in  aiding  your  schemes." 

"Well,  really,  Marcia,  I'm  sure  I  only  did  it  for  the  best. 
Don't  be  too  hard  on  me  if  T  tried  to  break  up  all  meetin's 
between  you  and  Brent.  You  may  live  to  thank  me  for  it ; 
indeed,  you  may ;  "  and  emboldened  by  the  listless  attention 


140  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

she  gave  to  his  words,  he  came  a  little  nearer,  but  did  not  dare 
look  her  straight  in  the  face. 

"  You  need  not  be  afraid,"  she  said  coldly;  "  I  shall  not  try 
to  shirk  my  part  of  the  contract.  The  marriage  shall  take 
place,"  drawing  her  lips  tightly  together. 

"  Thank  you,  Marsh,  thank  you,"  he  murmured,  brokenly. 

"You  might  have  spared  me  the  disgrace,"  she  added,  "  of 
planning  with  your  servants  to  deceive  me." 

"  But  you  don't  know,"  he  moaned,  cowering  down  by  the 
side  of  the  sofa,  "  how  much,  how  very  much  depends  on  this. 
I  am  an  old  man,  Marsh ;  a  very  old  man ;  and  I'm  fighting 
hard  to  make  my  last  years  of  life  years  of  peace." 

"  You  can  never  earn  peace  by  such  methods  as  you  have 
chosen.  I  have  given  you  my  word,"  as  the  tears  welled  up 
in  her  eyes  again;  "you  know  I  won't  break  it." 

"  Yes,  I  know,  I  know,"  trying  to  find  her  hand. 

She  raised  him  gently,  almost  tenderly.  How  old  he  looked, 
she  thought,  as  she  led  him  across  the  room. 

"Papa,"  she  said,  as  they  stood  in  the  doorway,  "you  can 
trust  me,  can  you  not? "  He  nodded  slowly,  almost  sadly. 
"I  pity  you  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  but  don't — don't  let 
me  despise  you." 

He  could  not  find  a  word  to  say  as  he  stood  there.  She  had 
glided  into  the  room  again,  and  closed  the  door.  He  thought 
he  heard  sounds  of  sobbing,  but  he  may  have  been  mistaken. 

He  struck  his  hand  on  the  balustrade  sharply.  "By  God, 
I'm  not  fit  to  have  a  daughter  like  that !  "  he  exclaimed,  as  he 
groped  his  way  down  the  dimly  lighted  stairs  and  into  the 
street. 

Marcia  was  crying,  crying  as  if  her  heart  would  break.  It 
was  more  for  shame  that  her  father  should  stoop  to  plot  with 
his  servants  to  watch  her  movements  that  caused  the  tears  to 
flow.  It  seemed  as  if  gradually  she  was  losing  respect  for  her 
father ;  yet  knowing  how  fearful  he  was  lest  his  crime  should 
be  discovered,  she  could  not  help  pitying  him. 

She  felt  better  after 'she  had  cried  away  the  long  pent-up 
tears.  After  all,  it  was  a  pleasure  to  her  to  have  discovered 
that  Brent  had  made  an  effort  to  see  her,  that  she  need  no 
longer  do  him  the  injustice  t.o  think  that  he  had  sneaked  out  of 
sight  without  a  word. 


MARCIA  HEARS  SOME  BAD  NEWS.  141 

But  what  had  become  of  him?  How  had  he  disappeared? 
She  could  not  ask  Shrike,  for  though  they  were  engaged  to  be 
married,  she  tried  to  see  as  little  of  him  as  possible.  It  wor- 
ried her 'that  every  one  in  society  kept  asking  the  question 
over  and  over  again. 

"  Oh,  do  tell  us,  Miss  Tillinghurst,  what  has  become  of  that 
delightful  Mr.  Brent?" 

It  brought  the  tears  to  her  eyes  to  be  constantly  harried  by 
this  question  that  she  could  not  answer.  She  was  not  enough 
of  a  society  woman  to  be  an  adroit  liar,  so  that  she  could  only 
stammer  out  that  she  had  not  seen  him  in  several  weeks,  but 
believed  that  he  had  gone  West  to  look  after  his  property 
there. 

How  she  wished  in  her  heart  that  she  knew  where  he  really 
was,  if  only  to  be  able  to  stave  off  the  inquiring  minds  who 
pretended  to  be  interested  in  his  welfare. 

Lots  of  unpleasant  stories  were  floating  around  about  the 
young  man,  industriously  circulated  by  the  ladies  who  had  in 
vain  courted  his  attention,  seconded  by  those  glib-tongued, 
insidious  "matrons  whose  charms  he  had  been  cold  to.  The 
most  credited  story  was  that  he  had  embezzled  the  funds  of 
the  Empire  Mills,  and  had  escaped  to  Canada  with  his  plunder, 
and  that  noble-minded  Mr.  Tillinghurst  had  refused  to  prose- 
cute. 

And  Marcia  had  the  shame  of  seeing  that  her  father  never 
denied  this  infamous  lie,  but  looked  mysterious,  as  if  he  knew 
a  great  deal  more  about  the  matter  than  he  cared  to  tell,  and 
wagged  his  head  solemnly,  as  if  he  regretted  the  young  man's 
perfidy.  Spiteful  little  paragraphs  began  to  appear  in  the 
society  papers  about  Brent's  disappearance — hints  that  the  edi- 
tors of  these  sapient  sheets  had  known  all  along  that  he  was 
a  humbug;  that  even  now  he  was  the  co-respondent  in  a  pecul- 
iarly scandalous  St.  Louis  divorce  suit ;  and  that,  if  the  truth 
were  known,  he  had  not  acted  like  a  St.  Anthony  with  some 
of  New .  York's  fashionable  favorites. 

So  the  slanders  ran  like  prairie  fire,  across  the  city,  and 
Marcia  read  every  paragraph,  and  cried  over  them,  and 
succeeded  in  getting  herself  into  that  miserable  condition  that 
is  only  possible  to  a  girl  who  has  given  all  the  love  of  her 
heart  into  one  man's  keeping. 


142  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

After  her  fit  of  crying  on  that  day,  Marcia  did  a  very  queer 
thing.  After  bathing  her  burning  eyes  in  cold  water,  she 
dressed  herself  in  the  modest  little  black  alpaca  dress  that  she 
usually  wore  on,  her  tenement-house  visits,  and,  heavily  veiled, 
crept  stealthily  down  the  servants1  stairway,  and  so  out  through 
the  side-door  that  led  to  Forty-first  Street.  Then  she  crossed  to 
Third  Avenue  and  rode  up-town  to  Fiftieth  Street,  where  she 
got  out  and  walked  briskly  towards  the  east  side.  The  lights 
were  beginning  to  bloom  out  in  the  gin-mills,  and  a  man 
spoke  to  her  as  she  crossed  Second  Avenue,  but  she  did  not 
turn  back,  only  hastening  her  footsteps  as  she  neared  Beek- 
man  Place. 

She  had  never  been  in  this  part  of  the  city  before,  but  she 
had  often  heard  the  little  club-house  described  in  a  jocular 
way  by  Captain  Shrike,  and  knew  it  at  once  by  the  Venetian 
blinds  on  the  windows  and  the  castile-soap-looking  horse-block 
in  front  of  the  door. 

What  if  she  should  meet  Shrike  there,  she  asked  herself  in 
fear.  Then  she  looked  at  her  watch,  and  saw  that  it  was  after 
five,  and  that  he  was  probably  on  his  way  to  some  dinner- 
party, and  that  she  need  not  be  alarmed. 

She  drew  her  veil  closer  over  her  face  as  she  stood  in  front 
of  the  club-house  door.  How  wildly  her  heart  beat  as  she 
rang  the  bell !  Her  mind  was  full  of  strange  fancies  conjured 
up  by  the  sight  of  the  house  where  he  had  lived.  What  if  he 
were  inside — ill— dying — 

Her  imaginative  flights  were  cut  short  by  the  door  opening. 
A  hard-featured  woman  in  a  neat  black  gown  eyed  her  curi- 
ously. 

"  Well,  mum,  and  what  do  you  want?" 

"  I — I  wanted  to  ask,"  trembled  Marcia,  somewhat  awed  by 
the  stony  glare  of  this  female  Cerebus,  ' '  if  there  is  a  gentle- 
man by  the  name  of  Brent  stopping  here?" 

The  woman  looked  her  over  again,  and  then  burst  into  a  loud 
laugh. 

"  So  ye're  one  o'  them? "  she  said,  chuckling  in  her  throat. 
"Well,  Mr.  Brent's  went  away.  He  ain't  been  here  for  ten 
days  or  more." 

"And  do  you  know  where  he  has  gone? "  asked  Marcia. 

"I  hears,"  said  the  woman,  looking  about  mysteriously, 


MARCIA  HEARS  SOME  SAD  NEWS.  143 

"  that  he's  went  to  California  to  get  married.  That  is,  I've 
been  told  so." 

The  door  swung  to  with  a  clang.  Marcia  was  alone  on  the 
steps.  Married !  The  word  rang  like  a  dull  pain  through  her 
brain ;  she  leaned  heavily  on  the  railing  for  support ;  the  street 
grew  misty  before  her  eyes.  What  had  that  horrible  woman 
meant  when  she  said,  "So  you  are  one  of  them?  "  Her  heart 
grew  sick  at  the  painful  thoughts  that  surged  through  her 
brain.  Oh,  it  was  infamous. 

She  turned  away  with  faltering  steps,  only  anxious  how  to 
get  away  from  that  hateful  neighborhood,  and  regretting,  oh, 
so  bitterly,  that  she  had  ever  come. 

Her  father  might  have  been  right  after  all,  when  he  said 
that  Brent  was  not  wrorth  wasting  a  thought  upon.  There 
had  always  been  some  mystery  about  him  that  she  had 
wondered  at,  an  unaccountable  uneasiness  when  he  spoke 
of  his  antecedents.  He  had  probably  been  thinking  of  that 
woman  in  California,  and  was  afraid  lest  his  secret  should  be 
found  out. 

The  tears  rushed  to  Marcia's  eyes,  as  she  thought  how  she 
had  been  deceived  in  him,  and  she  crept  home  like  a  culprit 
and  hid  herself  in  her  room,  where  she  wept  away  her  sorrows 
on  the  pillow,  and  tried  to  shut  out  of  her  heart  the  memory 
of  the  man  who  had  grown  so  dear  to  her. 

Had  Marcia  been  able  to  look  through  the  oaken  door  of 
the  club-house  in  Beekman  Place,  as  she  was  leaving,  she 
would  have  heard  Captain  Shrike  say  to  the  hard-featured 
woman : 

"Bravo,  Mrs.  Clinch!  that  California  yarn  of  yours  ought 
to  do  the  business." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

A  MYSTERIOUS  VISIT. 

"  Miss  TILLINGHTJRST,"  said  a  timid  voice  as  she  was  hurrying 
down  Fifth  Avenue  the  next  morning,  "  Miss  Tillinghurst !  " 

"  What,  Joe  Skerritt?"  as  the  well-knit  figure  came  bound- 
ing towards  her  with  giant  strides.  "  Nothing  serious  in  the 
Court,  is  there,  Joe? "  mistaking  his  embarrassed  air  for  bad 
news.  "  Malvina  and  your  mother  are  well,  I  hope? " 

"Oh,  they're  well  enough,"  said  Joe  uneasily;  "I — I  had 
something  else  to  tell  you,  Miss  Tillinghurst,  but  I  didn't  know 
exactly  where  to  begin.  You  ain't  ashamed  to  be  seen  walk- 
ing in  the  street  with  me? "  he  asked,  looking  doubtfully  at 
her  trim  tweed  ulster  and  then  at  his  own  faded  corkscrew 
suit,  that  bore  the  stamp  of  a  misfit  parlor. 

She  laughed  heartily.  "You  ought  to  know  me  better  than 
that,  Joe.  I  hope  I  shall  always  have  as  honest  and  upright  a 
young  man  to  take  a  walk  with  me  as  you." 

Joe  blushed  to  the  roots  of  his  yellow  hair,  and  seemed  to 
fancy  the  compliment  highly. 

"If  you  are  afraid,"  she  added,  "of  stirring  gossip  among 
fashionable  friends,  we  will  go  down  Park  Avenue ; "  and  suit- 
ing the  words  with  the  action,  she  turned  down  Fortieth  Street, 
while  Joe  paddled  along  meekly  by  her  side,  looking  as  if  he 
would  have  liked  to  run  away,  but  did  not  dare  to. 

"I  thought  you  had  something  to  tell,"  said  Marcia,  after 
they  had  walked  some  blocks,  and  the  young  man  showed  no 
sign  of  breaking  the  silence. 

"Well,  I— I  did,  Miss,"  stammered  Joe;  "but  I  didn't  know 
exactly  how  to  begin.  I'm  puzzled  whether  I  ought  to  say 
anything  at  all,  for  it  ain't  really  any  business  of  mine.  In 
fact,  it  ain't  in  my  line  at  all." 

Miss  TUlinghurst  looked  at  him  curiously. 

"Well,  Joe,  whatever  it  is,  out  with  it.  I  am  quite  sure  it 

144 


A  MYSTERIOUS  VISIT.  145 

must  be  something  important,  or  you  would  not  be  so  myste- 
rious. Would  I  be  interested?  " 

"You'd  ought  to  be,"  he  nodded. 

"  Something  about  Mr.  Brent,"  she  cried  impulsively,  laying 
her  hand  on  his  arm. 

He  nodded  again.  Her  face  was  so  eager  that  he  knew  he 
might  go  on  with  his  story. 

"  Mr.  Brent  has  been  livin'  with  us  down  to  the  Court  there, 
ten  days  or  more. " 

A  sigh  of  relief  came  from  Marcia's  lips.  ' '  And  he  is  all 
safe  and  well?  "  she  asked  anxiously. 

''Oh,  he's  safe  enough,"  returned  Joe;  "you  leave  it  to 
mother  to  take  care  of  him ;  but  he's  been  powerful  sick.  Had 
a  terrible  fever,  and  we  did  think  he'd  never  get  rid  of  it." 

A  mist  came  into  Marcia's  eyes  as  she  thought  of  him.  A 
sense  of  shame  came  over  her,  as  if  she  had  been  responsible 
for  his  illness.  "  And  how — how  did  he  come  to  you,  Joe?" 
she  faltered. 

"  It's  a  long  story,  Miss;  would  you  care  to  hear  it? " 

"Very  much." 

"  I  found  him  down  on  the  docks  one  rainy  night,  actin' 
strange  like.  I  thought  at  first  he'd  took  too  much  wine  for 
his  head,  but  it  wa'n't  that.  He  seemed  most  daft  about  some- 
thing." 

She  turned  her  head  away,  lest  he  should  see  her  tell-tale 
face. 

"I  was  afraid  he  wanted  to  jump  into  the  river,  and  was 
goin'  to  speak  to  him,  when  he  fell  all  of  a  heap  in  a  dead 
faint." 

"And  then?" 

"  And  then  I  gave  a  man  a  quarter  to  help  me  carry  him  to 
the  Court,  which  wasn't  very  far  off,  and  there  he  has  been 
ever  since." 

"  And  you  tell  me  he  is  perfectly  well  now?" 

"  Well,  he  was  much  better  when  I  left  him.  Ye  see,  Miss,  he 
would  get  up  'fore  we  wanted  him  to,  an' — an'  that  brought  on 
a  relapse.  He's  a  bit  delirious,  but  he's  in  a  fair  way  to  mend." 

They  walked  on  for  some  moments  in  silence,  Marcia  too 
much  occupied  with  her  own  troubled  thoughts  to  say  much. 

"Joe,"  she  said  at  length,  "I  want  you  to  do  me  a  great 
10 


146  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

favor.  I  know  you  will — you  have  been  so  kind  to  tell  me 
this.  Now,  do  one  thing  more." 

"  YouVe  only  got  to  ask,  Miss,  if  I  can  do  it." 

"  Well,  I  want  you  to  let  me  see  him." 

"You  see  him?" 

"  Yes,  and  without  anyone  knowing  of  it,  even  your  mother. 
Do  you  think  he  would  know  me? " 

Joe  shook  his  head.  "  He  don't  even  know  me.  But  I  don't 
know  whether  it  could  be  managed  or  not,  slippin'  you  into 
the  Court." 

"But  they  are  used  to  seeing  me  there,  and  no  one  would 
know  what  I  came  for." 

"I  don't  know  that  myself,"  said  Joe  bluntly.  "Well,  it 
ain't  much  that  either  you  or  Mr.  Brent  could  ask  o'  me  or 
mine  that  I  wouldn't  try  to  do,  Miss  Marcia.  And  I'll  help  you 
all  I  can.  Mother's  out  washin'  for  a  lady  to-day,  so  I  guess 
there'll  be  nobody  around." 

"  I  knew  you  would  help  me,"  she  said,  giving  Joe  so  grate- 
ful a  look  that  the  honest  fellow  blushed  with  pleasure.  "But, 
remember,  you  must  tell  no  one  of  this  visit." 

"Not  even  Mr.  Brent?" 

"  Not  even  Mr.  Brent." 

Joe  nodded  silently,  and  they  resumed  their  walk  across 
Union  Square.  Here  Marcia  asked  him  to  get  a  coupe,  and 
into  the  vehicle  they  bundled,  and  were  soon  rattling  over  the 
pavement  in  the  direction  of  Bolger's  Court,  Joe  enjoying  the 
ride  so  much  that  he  was  sorry  when  the  familiar  old  rookery 
came  in  sight. 

"You  stay  in  the  carriage,  Miss  Tillinghurst,  while  I  run 
up-stairs  and  see  if  everything  is  all  right,"  he  whispered,  as 
the  carriage  drew  up  to  the  side- walk,  to  the  wonder  and  great 
delight  of  some  dirty  children,  who  were  rolling  in  the  mud 
like  lively  young  turtles. 

Marcia  had  not  long  to  wait  before  Joe  returned.  He  was 
not  used  to  managing  mysterious  interviews,  and  the  novelty 
of  the  thing  rather  amused  him,  though  he  would  never  have 
made  a  success  as  an  intriguing  conspirator. 

"I  don't  see  a  soul  about,"  he  said.  "There's  a  few  old 
parties  sunnin'  of  ther'selves  in  the  yard,  but  they  are  all  pen- 


A  MYSTERIOUS  VISIT.  147 

sioners  of  yours,  and  it  won't  matter  if  ye  do  run  across 
them." 

He  piloted  her  in  silence  up  the  treacherous  stairs,  the 
mysteries  of  which  she  had  never  been  able  to  solve,  though 
she  had  been  up  and  down  them  so  often. 

A  voice  was  growling  out  a  song  from  the  landing  above  in 
a  hoarse,  beery  voice, 

"  Oh,  I  love  my  love  in  the  morning, 
An'  I  love  my  love  all  day." 

The  song  broke  down  with  an  oath,  as  the  singer  tripped  over 
something. 

"It's  old  man  Bowker,"  said  Joe;  "he's  been  on  a  bender, 
and  this  is  his  last  day.  It  always  takes  him  a  week  to  get 
over  one — he  made  it  two  weeks  when  his  wife  died.  If  you'll 
come  this  way,  we  won't  come  near  him, "  leading  her  through 
a  side  passage  in  the  mouldy  old  honeycomb. 

Marcia,  who  remembered  her  last  meeting  with  old  man 
Bowker,  was  only  too  glad  to  avoid  seeing  him. 

"  Oh,  I  love  my  love  in  the  morning, 
I  love  my  love  all  day." 

And  then  the  husky  voice  ceased,  and  the  sound  of  maudlin 
weeping  sounded  along  the  passage. 

"This  is  the  room,"  said  Joe,  softly.  "I'll  take  a  peep  in 
and  see  if  things  is  all  right." 

He  disappeared  inside,  leaving  Marcia  on  the  threshold  with 
a  strangely  beating  heart.  There  were  only  a  few  boards  be- 
tween her  and  the  man  she  loved,  the  man  whom  she  had 
caused  to  suffer  so.  What  must  he  think  of  her,  she  moaned, 
and  only  yesterday  she  had  been  willing  to  believe  that  he 
had  given  his  love  to  another.  What  had  she  ever  done  that 
so  much  sorrow  should  be  thrust  upon  her?  What  sin  of 
omission,  that  she  should  be  called  to  sacrifice  her  youth,  her 
life,  and  suffer  a  martyrdom  of  shame? 

She  was  all  a-tremble  with  painful  emotions  when  Joe  tip- 
toed out  of  the  room,  with  one  finger  on  his  lips. 

"He's  sleepin',''  he  whispered;  "I  wouldn't  wake  him,  for 
it  might  make  him  worse  and  excite  him." 

Marcia  pushed  by  him  without  an  answer.    Joe  was  forgot- 


148  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

ten.  Through  the  open  door  she  had  caught  sight  of  a  white 
face  and  a  mop  of  tousled  curls  above  the  gaudy  patchwork 
quilt  by  the  greasy-looking  window. 

Five  minutes — ten  minutes — fifteen  minutes  passed,  while 
Joe  stood  in  the  passage  guarding  the  door. 

When  Marcia  did  come  out,  Joe  saw  she  had  been  crying. 
He  pitied  her  in  his  heart,  though  he  could  find  no  words  to 
comfort  her. 

"Joe,"  she  said  earnestly,  as  they  made  their  way  slowly 
down  the  gloomy  corridor,  "  do  all  you  can  for  him,  for  my 
sake." 

"  I  don't  have  to  be  asked  to  do  that,"  he  said  bluntly. 

''I — I  only  wish  it  were  possible  for  me  to  be  near  him,  as 
you  are,  Joe,"  she  faltered.  "  You  could  not  understand  were 
I  to  tell  you  why  it  is  I  can't  be  here  at  his  side." 

He  looked  at  her  misty  eyes  and  trembling  lips. 

"  I  know,  Miss  Marcia.  Let's  hope  it'll  be  all  right  in  the 
end.  I'm  sure  no  one  could  blame  you.  I  used  to  think, 
when  you  came  down  here  to  see  mother,  that  you  were  so 
high  up  in  the  world  that  you  couldn't  feel— that  you  couldn't 
love  like  poor  folks ;  but  your  heart's  pretty  much  in  the  same 
place  as  ours  after  all." 

He  wanted  to  sympathize  with  her  so  much,  but  the 
words  came  awkwardly  to  his  lips.  He  could  face  Malvina's 
glances  unflinchingly,  but  somehow  Miss  Tillinghurst's  great, 
mournful  eyes  disconcerted  him. 

"  Will  you  come  again? "  he  asked. 

"If  I  could,"  she  murmured;  "if  I  only  could,"  so  sadly 
that  he  looked  at  her  hard.  To  her  it  seemed  the  last  time 
that  she  should  ever  see  John  Brent.  Their  paths  now  lay  a 
different  way. 

"Well,  if  you  can  come  again,"  said  Joe,  half  suspecting 
what  was  running  in  her  mind,  "if  you  can  come,  why  I'll 
fix  things  for  you." 

She  pressed  his  hand  gratefully  as  he  helped  her  into  the 
carriage,  too  sad  to  make  any  rejoinder.  Joe  watched  it  roll 
away  with  a  thoughtful  expression  on  his  freckled  face. 

"  The  need  of  money  ain't  the  wust  thing,  after  all,"  he  said, 
as  he  turned  on  his  heel.  "  Here,  she's  got  everything  but  the 
man  she  wants.  I  guess  Malvina  and  me  needn't  kick." 


A  MYSTERIOUS  VISIT.  149 

Brent  was  awake  when  he  came  back,  and  seemed  to  be 
much  better,  for  he  recognised  Joe  and  was  free  from  delir- 
ium, though  the  fever  still  burned  in  his  face. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you  better,  sir,"  said  Joe,  cracking  some 
ice  for  his  patient.  "  I  dare  say  we  will  have  you  out  in  a  few 
days." 

"I've been  delirious  again,  Joe?  " 

"Well,  yes,  sir,  you've  been  a  bit  out  of  your  head.  But 
how  did  you  know  it? " 

"  Because  it  seemed  to  me,  I  half  remember  that  in  my 
sleep  I  woke  up  and  saw  a  woman  kneeling  here  by  the  side 
of  my  bed,  and  then— and  then  she  cried,"  and  he  looked  at 
the  gay  coverlet  as  if  to  see  if  there  were  traces  of  tears. 
"And  then  she  cried,"  repeated  the  sick  man  in  a  dazed  sort 
of  way.  "And  then — "hesitating. 

"  And  then? "  asked  the  other. 

"And  then  she  leaned  over  me  and  kissed  me." 

"Well,  now,  what  a  beautiful  dream  .'"said  Joe,  pounding 
the  ice  with  a  great  deal  of  noise.  ' '  You'd  ought  to  go  to 
sleep,  sir,  an' — an'  try  to  dream  it  all  over  again." 


CHAPTER  XX. 

A  BIT  OF  SOCIAL  NEWS. 

LIFE  in  Bolger's  Court  was  not  without  variety.  John  Brent 
spent  the  days  of  his  convalescence  in  studying  his  neighbors. 
The  window  of  his  room  looked  out  on  the  court-yard,  with  its 
fountain  and  dirty  children,  and  its  slatternly  women  going 
and  coming  with  pitchers  of  water  all  day. 

They  began  chattering  at  an  early  hour  and  kept  it  up  until 
dusk.  Then  the  pitchers  had  another  mission  to  fulfil. 
Most  of  them  found  their  way  into  McGrogan's  on  the  corner, 
where  they  were  filled  up  to  the  brim  with  beer  or  ale;  and 
many  a  shock-haired  little  messenger  stopped  to  take  a  sly  sip 
on  the  way  home  with  his  precious  burden.  After  Bolger's 
Court  had  been  supplied  with  liquids,  the  trouble  began. 
Residents  who  had  spent  many  years  in  the  dingy  building 
knew  the  meaning  of  those  peculiar  sounds  thnt  broke  dis- 
cordantly on  the  silent  night. 

Certain  yells  denoted  that  old  man  Bowker  had  come  home 
drunk,  and  was  quarrelling  with  himself  in  the  passage-way ; 
still  others,  followed  by  blows,  told  the  story  to  the  inmates 
that  Mrs.  Porter  was  being  beaten  by  her  lord  and  master. 

It  was  generally  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  before  the 
sounds  died  away,  and  at  five  the  Court  was  again  ready  for 
business,  and  the  bustle  and  noise  were  resumed. 

Yet  Brent  was  satisfied  with  his  life,  though  he  had  hardly 
been  further  than  the  corner  since  he  came  to  live  with  the 
Skerritts.  It  was  so  different  from  the  existence  he  had  been 
leading  that  the  novelty  of  his  situation  pleased  him.  All  his 
ambitions  seemed  to  have  gone  from  him.  He  did  not  care  to 
mix  with  the  world  again,  or  its  people,  who,  he  thovight,  had 
treated  him  so  badly.  He  felt  as  if  he  could  end  his  days  in 
Bolger's  Court  without  a  pang  for  the  luxuries  he  had  lost,  if 
time  would  only  allow  him  to  forget.  Ah !  there  was  the  rub 

150 


A  BIT  OF  SOCIAL  NEWS.  151 

—if  he  could  only  forget !  Idleness  gave  him  so  much  time  to 
think,  and  then  his  thoughts  would  all  run  one  way — of  her. 

The  weeks  went  by  and  brought  many  changes  to  the  Sker- 
ritt  household.  The  strikers  still  held  out,  and  their  ranks 
were  daily  augmented  by  new  recruits.  The  whole  city  was 
in  an  uproar,  and  capitalists  trembled  for  their  property.  The 
manufactories  were  closed  in  and  around  the  city,  and  the 
labor  organizations  of  the  country  had  turned  into  the  district 
assemblies  over  a  million  in  money.  But  this  million  was  not 
like  the  miraculous  loaves  and  fishes,  it  could  feed  only  so 
many ;  and  provisions  had  never  been  so  high  as  at  the  present 
moment. 

Joe  Skerritt  received  only  a  dollar  a  week  now  from  the  dis- 
trict treasurer,  and  he  saw  the  savings  he  had  scraped  together 
by  hard  toil  melt  away.  It  would  be  a  long  time  now  before 
he  should  be  able  to  marry  Malvina,  but  he  was  as  cheerful  as 
ever  at  home. 

Brent,  who  had  still  considerable  money  left,  from  a  Bolger's 
Court  point  of  view,  found  many  opportunities  of  helping  the 
worthy  people  who  had  so  unselfishly  befriended  him.  A 
shawl  that  Mrs.  Skerritt  needed,  a  delicacy  for  the  table, 
like  tripe  and  onions,  of  which  Joe  was  passionately  fond,  a 
ribbon  for  Malvina — in  these  simple  ways  he  could  easily  give 
them  pleasure ;  arid  seldom  were  people  more  appreciative. 

Yet  often,  as  Brent  watched  Joe  and  Malvina  together,  he 
lumbering  and  ungraceful  in  his  attempts  to  play  the  lover, 
she  blushing  and  embarrassed  under  the  fire  of  his  glances,  a 
thought  came  over  him  as  he  stealthily  watched  them,  a 
thought  of  the  dream  he  had  come  near  realizing.  The  sight 
of  these  two  always  set  his  mind  wandering  back  to  that  world 
he  had  lost,  to  that  woman  he  wanted  to  forget. 

Queer,  indeed,  were  many  of  the  characters  that  found  shel- 
ter in  that  mouldy  tenement.  The  ranks  of  its  lodgers  were 
recruited  from  every  branch  of  life.  The  odds-and-ends  of 
society  had  found  their  way  into  Bolger's  Court,  and  Brent 
found  food  for  thought  in  studying  them  and  their  peculiari- 
ties. Old  man  Bowker  he  could  not  exactly  make  out.  There 
was  something  pathetic  and  yet  repellent  about  the  miserable 
old  gray-head.  He  might  discuss  the  tariff  question  with  you 
in  the  morning,  and  howl  ribald  songs  and  swear  all  the  after- 


152  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

noon.  There  was  no  placing  any  dependence  on  Bowker's 
movements,  and  for  that  reason  he  never  kept  a  place.  How 
he  managed  to  keep  big  miserable  old  body  out  of  the  grave  so 
long,  nobody  could  tell ;  for  when  interrogated  on  the  subject 
of  his  business,  he  would  say  he  was  a  speculator  on  Wall 
Street,  or  turn  off  the  question  with  some  jest.  It  was  evident 
that  he  had  a  mysterious  income  of  a  few  dollars  a  week  from 
some  unknown  source.  Sober,  he  was  an  interesting  though 
not  cultivated  man  to  talk  to,  Brent  found.  Drunk,  a  fiend  of 
hell  could  not  blaspheme  so  or  exhibit  such  passions  incarnate. 
Even  the  inmates  of  Bolger's  Court  bolted  their  doors  with 
extra  precaution  the  nights  when  Bowker  was  "on  a  bender." 

It  was  six  o'clock  on  a  certain  April  evening  that  the  Sker- 
ritt  family,  including  John  Brent,  sat  down  at  the  table  to 
discuss  a  ham  bone  and  bread  and  tea.  Joe  was  the  only  one 
in  the  group  who  seemed  at  all  disposed  to  talk,  and  talk  he 
would,  in  spite  of  the  huge  cubes  of  bread  that  passed  in  under 
his  moustache  at  regular  intervals. 

"  Wot's  the  news,  Joe?"  asked  Mrs.  Skerritt,  passing  him  a 
cup  of  tea.  "Is  it  so  the  shoemakers  gave  the  police  a  hot 
time  last  night?" 

"Yes;  an'  I  on'y  wish  I'd  been  there,  that's  all,"  said  Joe. 
"I'm  never  on  hand  for  a  good  time,  anyway.  You  see  the 
men  was  hangin'  around  the  factory  rather  late  at  night,  and 
the  perlice  thought  they  were  goin'  to  set  fire  to  it,  and  tried 
to  drive  'em  away.  I  hear  three  of  the  cops  got  their  heads 
broke  in  the  scrap  what  followed." 

"Oh,  ain't  that  just  awful,"  piped  Malvina,  who  had  a  feel- 
ing heart. 

"Naw,  serve  'em  right.  Nice  workin'-gal  you  are,  Malvina, 
sidin'  with  the  enemies  of  labor.  I'm  ashamed  of  ye;  there 
now ! " 

"Well, they  should  ought  to  behave  theirselves,  them  shoe- 
makers," added  his  fiancee  stoutly. 

"  Now,  what  do  you  women  know  about  the  rights  of  labor? " 

"  We  knows  that  all  we  gets  out  of  them  'ere  strikes  is  mostly 
starvation,"  said  Mrs.  Skerritt  bluntly,  wiping  a  plate  vigor- 
ously with  a  napkin.  "  I  never  knew  nothin'  good  to  come  of 
'em,  anyway." 

' '  But  ain't  a  feller's  manhood  got  anything  to  do  with  it  ?    Do 


A  SIT  OF  SOCIAL  NEWS.  153 

you  want  to  see  your  own  flesh  and  blood,''  with  a  sweep  of 
the  arm  that  upset  the  pickle  jar,  "  ground  d@\vn  beneath  the 
victorious  hoofs  of  a  degraded  aristocracy  ? "  asked  Joe. 

"Bravo !  "  said  Brent,  knocking  on  the  table.  "  Why,  Joe, 
I  did  not  know  that  you  were  such  an  orator." 

"  Well,  them  words  is  not  exactly  mine,  sir,"  said  Joe,  half 
apologetically ;  "  I  heard  em  last  week  at  the  meeting  of  the 
Reconstructionists — at  Hoskins. " 

"The  Reconstructionists?"  asked  the  other;  "why,  I 
thought  you  belonged  to  the  regular  Brotherhood  of  Labor? " 

"Well,  I  do — I  thought  I  would  try  this  other  s'ciety  on 
the  quiet,  to  see  what  they  was  up  to.  They's  mostly  made 
up  o'  Socialists  and  sech.  Lively  times  they  have  too  at 
their  meetin's,  particularly  when  the  Rooshians  gets  up  full  of 
beer — they  goes  in  for  harsh  measures  towards  the  aristocracy ; 
wants  to  fire  their  houses,  and  so  on." 

"Better  keep  out  o '  such  company,  Joe,"  said  his  mother, 
while  Malvina  cast  a  reproving  glance. 

"  Oh,  it  don't  hurt  me  none,"  said  the  young  man  cheerfully. 
"  They  don't  get  Josie  into  any  such  scrape— not — much.'' 

A  timid  tap  at  the  door,  and  Mr.  Bowker  stood  among  them. 
"I  beg  pardon  for  intruding,"  he  said,  half  apologetically;  "  I 
was  going  up-town,  and  I  thought  Joe  might  want  to  go  along 
to  the  meeting.  I'll  wait  outside." 

"  No,  you  won't, "said  Joe,  with  polite  rudeness.  "  Sit  down 
and  have  a  cup  of  tea,"  pushing  Bowker  into  a  chair  that  Mrs. 
Skerritt  had  already  dusted  preparatory  to  his  occupying  it. 

"How's  Wall  Street? "  asked  Joe ;  for  it  was  a  joke  with  him 
to  say  that  whenever  he  met  Mr.  Bowker. 

"  I  can  say  without  any  exaggeration,"  with  a  grim  smile, 
"that  Wall  Street  is  pretty  nigh  dead,  Joe.  There's  nobody 
buyin'  stocks,  and  everyone  wants  to  selj.  What  do  you 
think  of  Western  Union  down  to  sixteen? " 

"I  should  say  it  meant  ruin  for  somebody,"  said  Brent, 
looking  up.  "Where  is  this  trouble  going  to  end?  It  will 
wreck  the  city." 

"Let  her  go,"  said  Bowker  cheerfully.  "  I  could  sit  on  the 
Tribune  tower  and  fiddle  like  a  second  Nero,  while  she  burnt ; 
yes,  and  while  some  of  the  people  in  the  city  sizzled,"  he 


154  ^  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

exclaimed,  vehemently,  while  Malvina  stared  at  him  with 
wild  eyes,  and  let  fall  an  "  Oh! " 

"Why,  you  do  really  give  a  body  the  shivers,  Mr.  Bowker," 
said  Mrs.  Skerritt,  holding  up  her  hands.  ' '  However  can  you 
be  so  bloodthirsty,  when  you  might  die  to-night  with  sech 
words  on  your  lips? " 

"No,  I  ain't  goin'  to  die  jest  yet  awhile,"  said  the  old  man, 
firmly;  "  I  ain't  quite  through,  I  ain't." 

"You  seem  to  know  all  about  it,"  said  Mrs.  Skerritt;  "I 
suppose  you've  got  the  day  down  fine  when  ye're  goin'  to 
die,"  sarcastically. 

"  After  I  square  matters,  then  I'm  ready  to  croak,  but — but 
not  before ;  "  and  he  turned  around  and  looked  out  thought- 
fully on  the  street,  now  full  of  dusky  shadows. 

The  Skerritt  family  looked  at  each  other  knowingly,  but 
said  nothing.  Mrs.  Skerritt  shook  her  head  and  heaved  a 
sigh  of  great  volume.  It  was  evident  to  her  mind  that  the  old 
man  was  not  quite  right  in  his  head. 

"  You're  not  goin'  to  one  o'  them  meetin's,  are  you,  Joe? " 
she  asked  a  little  anxiously,  as  her  only  hopeful  gulped  down 
the  rest  of  his  tea  and  picked  up  his  hat. 

"Well,  I  was  thinkin'  of  goin'  with  Mr.  Bowker,"  Joe  said, 
a  little  sheepishly.  "  I  won't  be  gone  long,"  in  response  to 
Malvina's  reproachful  glances.  "  It  stirs  a  feller  up  to  hear 
them  speakers." 

"Yes,  stirs  up  all  the  deviltry  in  ye,"  said  his  mother, 
bluntly,  as  she  prepared  to  wash  the  dishes. 

"  I'm  sorry  you're  not  in  sympathy  with  the  cause,  Mrs. 
Skerritt,"  said  old  man  Bowker,  turning  around. 

"The  cause,  I  find,  is  generally  rum,"  was  the  grim 
response. 

This  rather  floored  Mr.  Bowker,  but  he  only  said:  "  Well,  if 
I  had  a  son,  and  such  a  likely  lad  as  Joe,  I'd  be  mighty  glad  if 
he'd  interest  himself  in  the  down-trodden  and  oppressed,  and 
in  the  upholding  of  the  rights  of  man.n 

"  Bosh !  "  said  the  sturdy  matron ;  "  they  can't  uphold  their- 
selves  without  the  aid  of  a  lamp-post  when  they  comes  home 
from  them  agitatin'  meetings.  I  wish  there  wasn't  no  work- 
ing-men's s'cieties  in  New  York,  I  do,"  said  Mrs.  Skerritt,  as 


A  BIT  OF  SOCIAL  NEWS.  155 

she  threw  the  ham-bone  at  the  cat,  who  happened  to  be  pass- 
ing at  that  moment. 

Mr.  Bowker  sighed  as  he  rose,  and  shook  his  head :  ' '  Perhaps 
you  wouldn't  mind  going  along  too,  Mr.  Brent? " 

That  young  man  looked  up  from  the  piece  of  yesterday's 
paper  he  had  been  reading,  and  shook  his  head. 

"I'm  afraid,  Mr.  Bowker,  I  should  be  out  of  place  among 
the  hard  workers.  I  am  an  idler,  you  know,  though  it  is  more 
from  necessity  than  from  anything  else." 

''You're  a  victim,  rather,  of  aristocratic  tyranny,"  for  Mr. 
Bowker  knew  most  of  his  story;  "and  your  place  ought  to  be 
in  our  ranks.  Yer  heart's  a  working-man's,  if  ye  do  look  like 
you'd  rolled  out  of  Murray  Hill.  Come  around  and  be  stirred 
up,  as  Joe  says. " 

"Yes,  come,"  said  young  Mr.  Skerritt,  who  had  evidently 
won  Malvina  over  to  his  side  in  the  interval,  for  she  said 
nothing  about  hid  going. 

Brent  started  up  suddenly,  as  if  a  new  thought  had  struck 
him,  something  that  excited  his  mind.  "Certainly  I'll  go, 
certainly,"  he  exclaimed,  rising  hastily  from  the  table  and 
looking  about  for  his  hat.  "As  you  were  saying,  my  place 
is  in  the  ranks  of  the  Reconstructionists. " 

Had  the  Skerritt  family  been  curious,  they  might  have  won- 
dered at  the  sudden  change  in  their  lodger,  who  seemed  all 
eagerness  now  to  join  Mr.  Bowker  and  Joe.  They  were  too 
simple-minded  to  imagine  that  the  piece  of  old  newspaper  was 
in  any  way  connected  with  his  new  decision.  Yet  a  para- 
graph in  that  greasy  sheet  had  stirred  up  a  host  of  memories. 
It  was  these  words  in  the  society  column  that  had  caused 
John  Brent  his  sudden  change  of  mind : 

"  The  troubled  condition  of  the  city  does  not  appall  the  stout 
heart  of  Mr.  John  Tillinghurst,  the  eminent  financier.  We 
learn  that  he  is  to  give  a  ball  on  the  twenty-first  of  this  month, 
at  his  residence  on  the  corner  of  Forty-first  Street  and  Fifth 
Avenue,  that  will  surpass  even  the  glories  of  the  old  Vander- 
bilt  fete.  It  is  given  in  honor  of  the  approaching  marriage  of 
his  daughter,  Miss  Marcia  Tillinghurst,  to  Captain  Eivington 
Shrike,  the  well-known  member  of  the  Argentine  Club  and 
Captain  of  the  First  New  York  Hussars," 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

BEFORE     THE     BALL. 

A  GRAY  sky,  changed  into  rain,  was  what  Marcia  Tillinghurst 
looked  out  at,  on  the  morning  of  the  21st  of  April.  Spiteful 
gusts  of  wind  rattled  the  window-shutters,  moaned  at  the 
corners  of  the  street,  and  hurried  pedestrians  along  on  their 
way.  She  turned  away  again  into  the  room  and  shivered, 
though  a  fire  was  burning  brightly  in  the  grate,  its  flames 
casting  fantastic  shad.ows  on  the  walls. 

It  was  not  that  dull,  gray  sky  that  had  sent  a  chill  to  her 
heart,  nor  the  dolorous,  dismal  weather;  it  was  because  her 
eyes  fell  upon  a  satin  skirt  that  had  been  thrown  carelessly 
over  the  back  of  a  chair,  the  seed-pearls  in  the  embroidery 
glistening  in  the  light,  the  long  white  veil  hanging  over  it  like 
a  puff  of  smoke. 

It  was  a  part  of  her  wedding-dress,  and  as  her  eyes  fell  on 
the  cream- white  folds,  she  shuddered  as  though  she  had  been 
confronted  by  a  spectre.  She  could  hear  the  scurrying  of 
many  feet  in  the  great  hall  below,  and  the  rattle  of  hammers. 
The  decorators,  she  knew,  were  at  work  on  the  walls,  prepar- 
ing for  the  ball  in  the  evening.  Above  the  noise  and  clatter 
she  heard  her  father's  voice  directing  the  workmen.  After  a 
few  moments  he  knocked  at  her  door  and  entered.  He  looked 
a  little  pale  and  worried,  though  he  tried  to  conceal  his  ner- 
vousness by  appearing  cheerful. 

"I  wish  you  would  come  down-stairs,  Marsh,"  he  said,  look- 
ing at  her  a  little  suspiciously.  "I  want  you  to  see  if  these 
fellows  are  doing  things  right.  This  affair's  going  to  cost  me 
a  pretty  penny,  and  I  don't  want  it  to  be  a  fizzle." 

She  did  not  seem  to  be  paying  any  attention  to  his  words, 
but  kept  her  eyes  fixed  on  a  pattern  on  the  carpet. 

"  Why  do  you  give  this  party? "  she  asked,  at  length. 

"Well,"  he  gasped,  sinking  into  a  chair,  "that  is  a  pretty 
question  to  ask.  I  declare,  Marsh,  you  do  vex  me  sometimes, 

156 


BEFORE  THE  BALL.  157 

you  really  do.     Why'do  I  give  it?    Why,  in  honor  of  your 
marriage." 

"In  honor  of  my  marriage?"  she  said  slowly. 

"That's  what  I  said." 

"There  is  no  honor  about  it.  It's  a  dishonor!"  she  ex- 
claimed, with  sudden  vehemence. 

Then,  in  a  gentler  mood,  she  went  over  to  her  father  and 
put  her  arm  around  his  neck.  He  would  not  look  at  her ;  he 
could  not. 

"Papa." 

"  Well,  Marsh? "  his  clear,  business-like  voice  quavered. 

"  You've  always  been  good  to  me." 

"  I've  tried  to." 

' '  And  yet,  for  all  that,  you  are  willing  to  sacrifice  me  now — 
to  give  me  to  a  man  I  can  never  love." 

"  But,  dear,  didn't  I  tell  you?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  laying  a  hand  on  his  lips.  "  I  know  you  told 
me  that  we  should  be  ruined,  that  we  were  in  Captain  Shrike's 
power,  that  we  lived  in  the  shadow  of  the  sword,  and  that  he 
could  ruin  our  lives.  You  have  not  told  me  what  this  secret 
was,  and  I  will  not  ask  you ;  but  there  must  be  some  alterna- 
tive. I  would  do  anything  to  save  you  from  harm,  but  the 
price  is  so  much  to  pay, — my  life,  my  youth,  my  happiness, 
all  ruined ; "  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  one 
choking  sob  escaped  her.  "Listen,  papa,"  she  said;  "let  us 
go  away  from  here  to  some  spot  where  no  one  will  know  us, 
and  where  we  can  live  in  peace.  If  you  have  wronged  any 
one,  make  what  reparation  you  can,  and  let  us  start  fresh  with 
a  clean  page  before  us.  Let  Captain  Shrike  speak  out ;  we  will 
only  laugh  at  him.  At  best,  he  can  only  rob  us  of  money ;  he 
cannot  take  me  away  from  you.  We  shall  be  together,  and 
can  defy  the  world."  She  had  spoken  rapidly,  and  her  cheeks 
were  flushed  and  her  eyes  were  bright. 

John  Tillinghurst  shook  his  head  sadly.  "You  don't  know 
what  you  ask,  Marsh.  This  man  has  it  in  his  power  to  trample 
me  under  foot,  to  make  me  an  outcast  and  a  pariah.  Don't 
think  I  haven't  sorrowed  for  you  and  tried  not  to  give  up ; 
but  it's  no  use  fighting  such  odds.  Just  think  of  all  the  years 
I  lived  like  a  dog,  and  scrimped  and  starved  and  toiled  to  get 
where  I  am  now.  Oh,  you  don't  know  what  it  is  to  ask  a  man 


158  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

to  begin  life  again  at  my  age,  after  fighting  such  a  hard 
fight." 

"But  it  will  all  come  out  some  day,  this  secret,"  she  fal- 
tered, "  and  then  it  will  be  too  late; "  and  there  was  a  moan 
in  her  voice. 

"  But  what  do  you  object  to  in  Captain  Shrike? " 

"Everything;  I  don't  love  him." 

"  Well,  there  is  no  saying  that  you  won't.  He's  good-look- 
ing, smart,  and  he  loves  you  enough  for  both." 

' '  Ah,  what  does  guch  love  amount  to,  when  he  would  force 
me  into  marrying  him  against  my  will." 

"  Well,  that's  the  military  in  him.  He  wants  you  at  any 
price,  even  if  he  has  to  declare  war.  Come  now,  Marsh,  be 
reasonable.  There's  many  a  girl  in  Murray  Hill  would  be  glad 
of  a  enhance  to  step  into  your  boots ;  now,  make  no  mistake. 
There's  Fanny  Pixley,  who,  I  know,  would  give  her  eyes  to  be 
Mrs.  Captain." 

She  wrung  her  hands  and  made  no  reply. 

"  1  couldn't  back  out  now,  Marsh,  if  I  wanted  to,"  he  said 
half  apologetically;  "  all  the  invitations  out  and  the  trousseau 
bought.  Why,  New  York  would  never  get  over  laughing  at 
me." 

He  looked  at  her  curiously,  as  she  did  not  answer,  and 
something  like  a  wave  of  regret  swept  through  his  mind.  He 
came  near  her  and  stood  for  a  moment  looking  at  her  with 
downcast  eyes.  She  was  the  figure  of  a  sorrowing  Niobe. 

"You — you  ain't  so  very  angry  with  me,  now,  are  you, 
Marsh?"  he  asked,  reaching  out  a  great  pudgy  hand,  and 
stroking  her  hair  softly. 

"  No,  papa,"  she  said  listlessly,  avoiding  his  caress. 

' '  And  you  will  come  down  in  a  bit  and  see  to  them  decora- 
tions?" 

"Yes,  papa." 

"That's  a  good  girl." 

He  kissed  her  on  the  forehead  in  a  clumsy  way,  and  slouched 
out  of  the  room,  never  looking  back.  If  he  had  done  so  a 
moment  later,  he  would  have  seen  his  daughter  kneeling  by 
the  bed,  her  hands  clasped  over  her  face,  convulsed  in  a 
paroxysm  of  weeping. 

How  that  dreary  day  passed  she  never  knew  exactly.    She 


BEFORE  THE  BALL.  159 

remembered  going  down-stairs  for  a  few  moments,  and  hearing, 
half  in  a  dream,  her  father's  voice  as  he  asked  her  advice  about 
decoration,  and  she  remembered  replying  something;  but  that 
was  all. 

She  had  tried  to  be  calm,  but  there  was  too  much  despair  in 
her  heart.  This  party  given  in  her  honor  seemed  to  bring  that 
dreadful  marriage-day  so  near  that  she  could  not  think  of  it 
without  a  shudder.  Under  the  pretence  of  a  headache,  she 
managed  to  escape  to  her  room,  away  from  her  garrulous 
father,  with  his  clumsy  efforts  at  sympathy. 

When  the  evening  came  she  dressed  herself,  and  was  sur- 
prised to  see  how  pale  she  looked.  The  dress  had  been  ordered 
for  the  occasion  from  Pingat,  and  was  a  marvel  of  white  satin 
and  lace.  She  looked  like  a  statue  moulded  out  of  snow  when 
she  had  put  it  on.  It  was  ten  o'clock,  and  the  guests  were  be- 
ginning to  arrive  when  she  came  out  of  her  room.  The  great 
logs  were  burning  in  the  open  fire-place  in  the  hall.  She 
stopped  for  a  moment  to  warm  her  hands  in  the  blaze,  though 
it  was  oppressively  hot.  Captain  Shrike  came  in  as  she  stood 
there. 

"You  are  shivering  as  if  you  had  a  chill,  dear,"  he  said,  tak- 
ing one  of  her  hands  in  his.  "  Come  now,  this  won't  do,  you 
know.  We  shall  have  to  have  a  dance,  if  only  to  warm  you 
up." 

"I  shall  not  dance  to-night,"  bending  again  towards  the 
blaze,  and  putting  one  foot  on  the  brass  railing  about  the 
fireplace. 

"  Not  dance !    But— but  what  will  the  guests  think? " 

"I  do  not  care." 

"Ah,  well,"  biting  his  lip,  for  he  had  a  quick  temper,  "do 
as  you  please,  Marcia;  but  it  will  only  give  everyone  some- 
thing to  talk  about.  At  least  you  ought  to  dance  with  me 
once,  considering  circumstances." 

"You  will  soon  have  it  in  your  power  to  command  me  to 
obey  you,"  she  said,  bitterly. 

He  looked  at  her  for  some  moments  suspiciously. 

"  Marcia,"  and  he  seized  her  arm  tightly,  "  I  know  why  this 
marriage  is  repugnant  to  you." 

"Let  me  go;  you  are  hurting  my  wrist,"  she  said  weakly. 

"  Not  until  you  have  heard  me." 


160  -A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

"  Well,  I  am  listening." 

"You  love  this  man.  who  calls  himself  Brent.  I  know  it,  I 
read  it  in  your  eyes.  You  love  him  yet." 

A  slight  flush  passed  over  her  pale  face,  her  arm  trembled 
on  his,  but  in  a  moment  she  had  collected  herself. 

"You  are  a  clairvoyant,  Captain,"  with  a  light  laugh.  "  Let 
us  join  the  guests. " 

"  She  loves  him;  I  know  it,"  said  Captain  Shrike  to  himself, 
as  he  led  the  way  to  the  stairs.  A  seething  noise  came  from 
below,  the  babble  of  many  voices.  The  rush  had  begun. 

Marcia  had  recovered  herself,  and  a  slight  flush  of  excite- 
ment tinted  her  pale  cheek  a  delicate  rose.  The  captain 
straightened  himself  up  and  gave  his  moustache  an  extra 
twist.  They  passed  the  gauntlet  of  fashionable  inspection, 
looking  the  very  beau  ideal  of  a  handsome  and  devoted  pair, 
as  they  entered  the  main  hall  leading  to  the  ball-room.  No 
one  could  have  known  that  anything  had  happened. 

"So  distinguished !  "  said  the  ladies,  referring  to  the  captain. 

"Lucky  devil ! "  said  the  men,  looking  at  Marcia. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 
MR.  TILLINGHURST' s  BALL. 

Mr.  TILLINGHURST  stood  leaning  against  the  bronze  Psyche 
that  held  aloft  a  lantern  of  many  colors,  at  the  foot,  of  the 
broad  stairway,  the  lights  from  the  colored  glasses  giving  his 
bald  head  a  strange  striped  effect,  and  distorting  his  smiling 
countenance  into  a  fantastic  expression  as  grotesque  as  a  Greek 
mask. 

He  had  never  in  all  his  career  had  such  a  number  of  distin- 
guished people  under  his  roof  before,  and  it  was  very  likely 
that  he  never  would  again,  for  a  great  many  who  secretly 
scorned  him  had  been  drawn  there  that  evening  because  there 
was  a  gloom  over  society,  and  his  ball  was  the  only  social 
event  at  the  time.  Tillinghurst  knew  it  top,  perhaps,  and 
tried  to  get  all  the  amusement  he  could  by  circulating  freely 
among  the  guests,  with  a  word  for  everyone,  and  particularly 
for  those  exclusive  Knickerbocker  ladies  who  he  knew  detested 
him. 

He  was  certainly  entitled  to  some  enjoyment  on  that  occa- 
sion, for  he  had  spent  his  money  without  stint.  A  canopy  of 
glacier  blue  satin,  looped  up  at  intervals  with  silver  stars, 
transformed  the  three  great  parlors  into  a  spacious  tent,  while, 
the  walls  were  hidden  with  flowers  set  close  together  in  intri- 
cate patterns,  illuminated  here  and  there  by  tulips  and  tiger 
lilies  of  glass,  in  which  electric  lights  were  burning.  The  four 
corners  of  the  room  were  filled  with  banks  of  Gloire  de  Dijon 
roses,  in  the  midst  of  which  tiny  perfumed  fountains  sent  up 
their  jewelled  spray :  while  in  the  conservatory,  close-hidden 
by  a  small  grove  of  lemon  trees  in  bloom,  a  string  band  filled 
the  air  with  voluptuous  melodies.  Tillinghurst  persuaded 
himself,  not  without  the  aid  of  an  occasional  glass  of  amber 
sherry  during  the  evening,  that  he  was  a  very  happy  man ; 
that  he  was  doing  just  the  best  thing  in  the  world  for  Marcia's 
happiness,  though  she  might  not  be  aware  of  the  fact;  and 
11  161 


162  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

that  he  ought  to  be  very  proud  of  getting  such  a  distinguished- 
looking  son-in-law.  When,  through  the  mazes  of  the  crowd, 
or  the  shifting  changes  of  that  kaleidoscopic  gathering,  he 
came  upon  his  daughter  and  saw  how  pale  and  cold  and  list- 
less she  looked,  he  felt  very  much  like  a  coward,  and  sneaked 
away  from  the  sight  of  her  mournful,  reproachful  eyes.  But 
he  had  gone  too  far  now  to  retreat ;  the  marriage  must  and 
should  take  place. 

The  guests  there  that  night  saw,  in  their  smiling  host,  only 
the  counterfeit  presentment  of  a  prosperous  self-made  man, 
whose  millions  gilded  all  his  faul-ts  and  all  his  sins  of  omission. 
But  John  Tillinghurst  saw  beyond  the  shifting,  gay -colored 
crowd  that  thronged  his  parlors.  He  saw  a  thin,  ragged, 
hungry-looking  man,  with  a  box  on  his  back  and  another  in 
his  hand,  who  toiled  up  steep  stairs  and  prowled  about  dingy 
offices  and  crawled  home  to  a  kennel  late  at  night,  where  he 
supped  on  stale  bread  and  staler  beer,  and  laid  down  to 
troubled  sleep. 

As  his  memory  went  wandering  back  into  the  mazes  of  that 
miserable  by-way  of  his  life,  the  broker  shuddered,  and  he 
took  another  turn  through  the  parlors  to  assure  himself  that 
he  was  really  and  truly  the  owner  of  the  house,  and  not  that 
outcast  of  old. 

What  was  it  that  had  turned  his  thoughts  towards  those  old 
days  which  he  had  been  so  glad  to  bury  ?  Was  it  the  sight  of 
Marcia's  pleading  eyes,  or  the  bold  face  of  Captain  Shrike,  his 
son-in-law  elect  by  compulsion,  the  man  who  held  his  future 
in  the  hollow  of  his  hand,  who  could  drag  him  down  to  the  old 
level  of  misery  and  want  ? 

After  such  unpleasant  memories  Mr.  Tillinghurst  had  again 
recourse  to  the  sherry.  Why  the  devil  did  they  keep  rising 
in  his  mind,  on  that  evening  above  all  others,  when  he  wanted 
to  be  gay  and  joyous,  and  get  his  money's  worth  of  real 
blooded  society  1 

He  ran  into  Captain  Shrike  in  the  hall,  and  looked  at  him 
curiously. 

"  Why  don't  you  try  to  cheer  Marcia  up  a  bit  ? "  he  asked. 
' '  Seems  to  me  she's  the  only  one  in  the  place  who  is  not  hav- 
ing a  good  time." 

"  The  best  way  for  me  to  cheer  her  up,  I  think,"  said  the 


ME.   TILLINGHURST^  S  BALL.  103 

captain  grumpily,  "  is  by  not  going  near  her.  I  left  her  with 
Freddy  Pixley  when  I  found  I  couldn't  get  a  word  out  of  her 
except  yes  or  no." 

"  Oh,  shell  come  round,  never  fear." 

"  It  will  take  a  long  time,  I  am  afraid.  Tillinghurst,  you 
deceived  me  in  this  matter.  You  said  the  girl  liked  me,  you 
know  you  did." 

"As  a  friend,  certainly;  but  she's  just  as  likely  as  not  to 
hate  you  as  a  husband.  I  tell  you  what,  Shrike ;  you  don't 
know  how  to  court  a  girl ;  now,  when  I  was  waiting  on  her 
mother — " 

"Oh,  bosh!" 

"  Well,  anyhow,  you  must  go  slow.  Marcia's  had  pretty 
much  her  own  way  all  her  life,  and  she  don't  want  to  be 
broken  to  harness  in  too  great  a  hurry.  She's  high-strung, 
and'll  baulk  every  time.  You  military  fellers  are  all  fire  and 
fury.  She'll  come  round,  you  mark  my  words." 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  the  captain  slowly.  "You,  John  Tilling- 
hurst, have  every  reason  to  bring  this  match  to  a  successful 
issue." 

The  millionaire  shivered.  "  I  wish  it  was  all  over,"  he  said, 
and  he  meant  it. 

"  And  I  too.  I  love  her,  Tillinghurst,  and  I'll  do  the  best  I 
can  for  her.  I  may  have  forced  you  to  give  her  to  me,  but  I 
had  to  have  her  at  any  cost. " 

"I  might  have  done  worse,"  said  the  other  doubtfully. 
"  It's  the  first  time  I  ever  forced  her  to  do  anything." 

He  left  Shrike  alone  and  passed  on,  glad  to  get  away  from  a 
subject  that  troubled  his  conscience. 

In  the  hall  a  man  in  full  dress,  with  sharp  black  eyes, 
stopped  to  speak  to  him. 

"I  brought  another  man  with  me  to-night,"  he  said; 
"  thought  there  might  be  work  for  two." 

"That's  right,  Dawkins,  keep  a  look-out  for  the  light-fin- 
gered. There  must  be  about  two  bushels  of  diamonds  in  the 
room  yonder.  I  never  saw  a  crowd  dance  so  much  and  enjoy 
themselves  so  hearty.  The  people  seem  to  be  glad  to  get  out 
and  have  a  good  time,  in  spite  of  the  labor  troubles.  A  sneak 
could  make  a  good  haul  if  he  got  up  in  the  coat-room." 


164  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

"  Not  so  much  fear  about  that  as  there  is  something  else," 
said  Dawkins,  significantly. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? " 

"Read  that,"  handing  a  telegram;  "I  got  it  from  police 
headquarters  as  I  came  up  here." 

The  millionaire  laughed  as  he  read  it. 

"  Bosh! "  he  exclaimed,  tossing  it  back;  "  I  have  heard  that 
rumor  before." 

"But  I  believe  it,"  said  the  detective,  calmly. 

"  What  would  you  have  me  do  ?  Dismiss  the  guests  ?  Get 
up  before  them  ah1  and  announce  that  Fifth  Avenue  is 
besieged,  and  that  they  must  fly  for  their  lives  ?  Well,  that 
is  a  good  joke !  "  and  he  laughed  uproariously. 

"We  shall  see  something,"  said  the  detective,  significantly, 
as  he  moved  away.  "And  you  cannot  blame  me  if  there  is 
trouble,  Mr.  Tillinghurst ;  you  have  been  warned  in  time." 

The  millionaire  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  returned  to  the 
ball-room  with  a  smile  011  his  face,  but  with  a  strange  sinking 
sensation  in  his  heart.  He  had  seen  the  clouds  hovering  over 
the  city  before  this ;  were  they  about  to  break  in  storm  and 
lightning  ? 

He  did  not  think  of  his  personal  safety ;  that  was  last  in  his 
thoughts;  but  he  knew  that  an  outbreak  of  the  people  meant 
ruin  for  all  his  enterprises,  wreckage  of  all  his  schemes.  In 
vain  he  mingled  among  his  guests  and  tried  to  speak  cheer- 
fully; the  words  of  the  detective  had  strangely  disquieted 
him.  He  searched  for  Dawkins,  but  that  worthy  had  disap- 
peared, leaving  only  his  words  behind  him  to  rankle. 

"  You  haven't  told  us  where  .you  are  going  for  your  wedding 
tour,"  said  Fanny  Pixley,  who  was  one  of  the  groTip  sur- 
rounding Marcia  in  a  corner  of  the  room.  .  "Don't  think  of 
Europe!  Some  friends  of  mine  tried  the  trip,  and  they  got 
so  disgusted  with  each  other  on  the  way  over  that  they  ap- 
plied for  a  divorce  on  arriving  in  Liverpool." 

"I  haven't  thought  of  the  matter  at  all,"  said  Marcia, 
slowly.  Her  head  ached,  and  she  would  have  been  glad  to 
have  escaped  from  Fanny's  chatter. 

"Why,  I  should  think  that  would  be  the  very  first  thing 
you  would  think  of,"  piped  Miss  Pixley,  little  thinking  of  the 
pain  she  was  unconsciously  inflicting.  ' '  I  am  sure  if  I  had 


MR.  TILLINGUURST'S  HALL.  165 

such  a  pretty  lot  of  dresses  as  you  have,  I  should  want  to  go 
to  some  real  gay  place  to  show  them  off.  I  wonder  how  it  is 
that  people  are  always  able  to  tell  a  newly-married  couple. 
It  must  be  dreadfully  embarrassing,  don't  you  think  so?  " 

But  Marcia  did  not  want  to  think  of  anything  about  that 
dreadful  marriage  that  hung  over  her  like  a  sword  of  Damo- 
cles. She  was  even  glad  when  the  garrulous  Mrs.  Wilton 
came  tripping  forward  on  General  Beaton's  arm,  wonderfully 
clad  in  orange  and  purple  brocade,  that  gave  her  a  barbaric 
appearance. 

"AAV  don't  know  when  aw've  enjoyed  a  ball  so  much,  my 
deah  Miss  Tillinghurst,"  twittered  the  widow.  "It  reminds 
me  of  the  birthday  party  given  in  my  honor  at  Belair,  when  I 
danced  the  cotillon  with  Lord  Oxenford." 

"  How  long  ago  was  that,  Mrs.  Wilton?  "  asked  Fanny  Pix- 
ley,  who  detested  her,  and  never  lost  an  opportunity  of  say- 
ing something  disagreeable. 

"When  was  it?"  repeated  Mrs.  Wilton,  slowly.  As  she 
was  making  the  story  out  of  the  whole  cloth,  it  took  her  some 
time  to  think.  "Ah — Ah  was  a  mere  child  at  the  time,"  she 
said,  hesitatingly.  "Ah  think  about  eighteen.  Just  ten 
years  ago,"  with  a  simper. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Wilton!"  exclaimed  Fanny,  with  an  expression 
of  mock  dismay. 

"What,  child?" 

"  You  said  only  last  night  that  you  didn't  come  to  Belair 
to  live  until  you  were  twenty-two." 

Mrs.  Wilton  looked  as  if  she  would  like  to  throttle  Miss 
Pixley  then  and  there,  but  she  contented  herself  by  say- 
ing: "Ah  never  was  much  at  remembering  dates,  anyway, 
but  I  have  got  everything  down  in  my  diary  at  home. " 

"Everything?"  asked  Fanny,  significantly.  "Oh,  now, 
my  dear  Mrs.  Wilton,  I  do  hope  you  will  let  me  see  it.  I 
should  think  it  would  be  dangerous  for  a  woman  to  trust 
everything  to  a  little  book." 

Mrs.  Wilton  looked  at  her  so  viciously  that  Fanny  paused 
in  dismay. 

"General,"  said  the  widow,  turning  to  her  gray-haired 
slave  at  her  elbow,  "I  dare  say  you  have  not  forgotten  that 
delightful  night  at  Belair." 


166  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

"It  could  not  be  forgotten,"  said  the  general.  "I  have 
described  the  occasion  in  my  book,  '  Social  Life  in  the  South.' 
You  must  really  let  me  send  you  a  copy,  Miss  Tillinghurst." 

Marcia,  who  had  only  caught  a  word  here  and  there  of  the 
conversation,  thanked  him. 

"Ah,  those  were  palmy  days,"  sighed  Mrs.  Wilton. 

"I  think,"  pursued  the  general,  "that  my  book  will  be 
found  a  great  help  to  society  people  up  north,  in  suggesting 
amusements  of  an  interesting  character." 

"You  ought  to  be  able  to  give  us  some  points  in  flirtation, 
General,"  said  Fanny  Pixley,  with  a  significant  look  at  the 
widow.  ' '  Southern  men  have  such  a  reputation  as  lady- 
killers." 

The  general  paid  no  attention  except  to  scowl.  "  This  ball, 
Miss  Tillinghurst,"  he  continued,  "is  the  most  tasteful  that 
I  have  attended  this  winter.  It  really— it  really  compares 
favorably  with  those  I  have  attended  in  Charleston,"  with 
overwhelming  emphasis. 

"It's  very  kind  of  you  to  say  that,  General  Seaton,"  said 
Marcia  feebly,  wishing  she  was  in  bed.  "  Papa  was  very 
anxious  that  it  should  be  a  success. " 

Why  did  they  not  go  away  and  bore  some  one  else? 

"And  there  is  supper,"  exclaimed  the  widow,  who  had  a 
rare  faculty  for  being  able  to  scent  a  dinner  through  a  key- 
hole, and  now  was  all  impatience  to  descend  on  the  viands. 

Mrs.  Wilton's  scent  was  correct,  for  in  a  moment  the  folding- 
doors  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  hall  were  thrown  open,  dis- 
closing a  long  table,  glittering  with  cut  glass,  and  gold  and 
silver  plate,  while  on  either  side  two  rows  of  stolid  men  in 
black  stood  in  dignified  repose. 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Wilton,  overcome  with  rapture ;  and 
she  dragged  the  general  away,  just  as  he  was  launching  forth 
into  an  eloquent  description  of  a  book  he  had  written  or  was 
going  to  write  or  something ;  and  she  never  let  him  go  until 
he  had  found  her  a  seat  near  the  boar's  head,  whose  gilt  tusks 
shone  diabolically  at  one  end  of  the  table. 

Marcia  was  glad  of  the  respite,  and  took  Captain  Shrike's 
arm  almost  with  a  sense  of  pleasure  when  he  came  towards 
her.  "  You  will  think  me  very  rude  for  not  dancing  with  you 


MR.   TILLlNGriUIiST'S  BALL.  167 

this  evening,"  she  said,  half  apologetically,  "but  my  head 
aches  terribly. " 

"  I  thought  you  did  not  look  well,"  he  said  kindly.  "  I  dare 
say  this  noise  and  worry  were  too  much  for  you." 

The  crowd,  weary  of  the  dance,  surged  into  the  great  dining- 
room,  and  filled  its  every  nook  and  corner  with  glistening 
silks  and  satins  and  oily-looking  broadcloths.  The  clatter  of 
dishes  and  clashing  silver,  the  popping  of  corks,  and  the 
gurgling- of  pouring  wine  drowned  the  sounds  of  ordinary  con- 
versation. 

Mrs.  Wilton,  safely  ensconced  near  the  head  of  the  table, 
kept  three  waiters  attending  to  her  wants.  As  Freddy  Pixley 
remarked,  "  The  camel  is  laying  in  a  supply;  "  and  certainly 
her  stowage  capacity  seemed  unlimited. 

As  soon  as  the  wines  made  their  appearance,  Captain  Shrike 
drank  early  and  often,  and  was  soon  in  such  a  pleasant  frame 
of  mind  that  he  did  not  notice  whether  Marcia  sulked  or  not. 
He  was  chatting  noisily  with  Fanny  Pixley,  and  some  of  his 
stories,  related  in  rather  a  loud  voice,  caused  some  of  the 
genuine  old  Dutch  descendants  who  sat  opposite  to  him  to 
seek  refuge  in  smelling-salts  very  frequently,  and  to  regard 
him" with  looks  of  refined  horror. 

Shrike  was  just  reaching  for  his  fifth  glass  of  champagne, 
when  the  distant  booming  of  cannon  was  heard,  and  the  sound 
of  fire-arms. 

Tillinghurst,  who  was  raising  a  glass  of  wine  to  his  lips, 
turned  deadly  pale,  and  let  it  fall  with  a  crash  on  to  his  plate, 
where  it  shattered  noisily. 

The  eyes  of  every  one  were  turned  on  him  wonderingly. 
What  was  the  trouble?  He  was  quivering  as  if  in  a  fit.  Just 
at  that  moment  a  noise  was  heard  in  the  hall.  Dawkins, 
spattered  with  mud  and-dressed  as  a  common  laborer,  pushed 
by  the  frightened  flunkeys  and  stood  before  the  astounded 
guests. 

"  Go  home  while  there  is  time,"  he  cried,  hoarsely.  "Lock 
yourselves  in.  The  police  have  been  overpowered,  and  the 
mob  is  .hurrying  towards  Murray  Hill ! " 


CHAPTER  XXHL 

THE  LAST  IN  THE  DINING-ROOM. 

IF  the  detective  had  announced  that  the  house  was  about  to 
fall  and  overwhelm  them,  he  could  not  have  struck  more 
terror  into  the  hearts  of  that  brilliant  gathering.  The  words 
had  scarcely  left  his  lips  when  a  mad  rush  was  made  for  the 
doors.  The  agonized  screams  of  the  women  as  they  were 
trampled  under  foot  by  the  men,  and  the  noise  of  breaking 
glass  and  falling  furniture,  were  a  fit  accompaniment  to  that 
wild  stampede. 

All  sense  of  friendship  was  forgotten  in  the  struggle.  The 
great  table,  with  its  weight  of  crystal  and  plate,  was  over- 
turned, and  littered  the  Persian  rugs  with  a  glittering  debris. 
The  candelabras,  broken  on  the  floor,  poured  little  rivulets  of 
fire  through  the  fallen  mass,  and  one  end  of  the  satin  table- 
cloth burned  slowly  where  it  had  caught  flame  from  a  candle. 

In  two  minutes  the  room  was  clear  of  people.  Only  a  satin 
slipper  here  and  there,  a  shred  of  blood-stained  lace,  a  crushed 
bouquet,  or  a  gleaming  jewel,  told  the  story  of  the  struggle  that 
had  taken  place. 

Still  John  Tillinghurst  stood  at  the  head  of  the  table,  his  eyes 
half  closed,  as  if  unconscious  of  the  terrible  scene  that  had  just 
occurred,  just  as  he  had  stood  when  the  distant  booming  of  the 
cannon  had  sent  that  dreadful  chill  to  his  heart.  He  was  like 
a  man  in  a  dream,  so  still,  so  calm  he  stood  in  the  midst  of 
that  glittering  ruin — the  broken  glass  and  the  gold  and  silver 
plate,  the  crushed,  wine-drenched  flowers,  the  candles  burning 
smokily  on  the  floor,  and  filling  the  dim-lit  cavernous  room 
with  a  misty  blue  vapor. 

Some  one  touched  him  on  the  arm,  and  then  he  started  with 
a  sudden  gasp  of  fear. 

Marcia  stood  before  him,  pale  as  a  spectre,  her  hair  falling 
loosely  about  her  face,  where  it  had  escaped  its  fastenings,  her 

168 


THE  LAST  IN  THE  DINING-ROOM.  169 

hands  bleeding  where  she  had  been  trampled  down  among  the 
broken  bits  of  glass  from  the  table. 

He  looked  at  her  as  if  he  had  never  seen  her  before. 

"Come,  "she  said,  huskily,  clutching  at  his  sleeve.  "You 
must  not  stay  here.  You  have  enemies  in  that  mob.  They 
would  kill  you  if  they  found  you." 

"  Where  is  Shrike?  "  he  asked,  slowly. 

"  Gone — gone  like  the  rest.'' 

"Coward ! "  muttered  the  old  man  between  his  teeth. 

"But  hurry,  papa,"  she  urged,  trying  to  rouse  him  up; 
"hurry;  there  is  no  time  to  be  lost.  A  few  moments  and  it 
may  be  too  late." 

"Do  you  think  I'm  afraid  o'  those  curs?"  he  muttered. 
"  Why,  I'll  make  'em  get  down  and  lick  the  dust  for  this.  See 
if  I  don't.  I  own  a  thousand  of  'em,  and  they  shall  pay  me 
back  in  blood ;  "  and  his  eyes  glittered  with  that  ominous  light 
which  his  enemies  knew  so  well  meant  mischief. 

"  But  we  must  not  waste,  time  here,"  Marcia  urged,  trying 
to  drag  him  away  towards  the  door.  "  Nothing  you  could  say 
would  make  any  impression  on  these  infuriated  men.  They 
want  your  life,  and  they  will  have  it.  Oh,  come  before  it  is 
too  late ! " 

"I  built  this  house  with  my  money,"  he  growled  stubbornly. 
"  I  can't  give  it  up  for  those  devils  to  ruin.  You  go,  Marcia, 
and  don't  be  afraid  of  me.  I'll  stick  here  as  long  as  there's  a 
stone  left  in  the  walls ;  and  let  'em  come  on,  damn  'em,  if  they 
will." 

Marcia  was  ready  to  faint  with  despair.  She  kneeled  down 
weakly  at  his  feet,  leaning  against  a  corner  of  the  overturned 
table  to  keep  herself  from  falling. 

"  Then  I  will  stay  here  and  die  with  you,"  she  said,  in  a  fal- 
tering though  determined  voice. 

He  looked  at  her  doubtfully  in  his  stupid  way. 

"No— you— you  mustn't.  They're  a  rough  lot,  and  they 
might  not  respect  a  woman.  Go,  Marcia,  and  leave  me  to 
face  these  devils  alone.  I've  done  it  before,  and  by  God,  I  can 
do  it  again,"  setting  his  teeth  together  in  the  old  vicious  way. 

"  I  will  only  go  with  you,  papa.  Oh,  rouse  yourself,"  shak- 
ing him  by  the  arm ;  "  there  is  still  time  for  us  to  get  away." 


170  -I  SLAVE  OF 

She  crawled  over  to  the  window  and  threw  up  the  curtain. 
A  bright  moonlight  filled  that  strange  disordered  room  with 
its  weird  light.  She  opened  the  window  and  looked  out  on 
the  street.  It  was  silent  as  a  street  in  a  dead  city,  only  from 
the  direction  of  down-town  came  an  occasional  sound  of  fire- 
arms and  the  rattle  of  drums.  The  sky  was  tinged  an  omi- 
nous red  from  burning  buildings.  To  Marcia  it  looked  like  a 
sea  of  blood. 

She  closed  the  window  again  and  turned  to  her  father.  He 
had  not  moved,  standing  as  still  as  if  stupefied.  She  crawled 
over  to  the  buffet,  the  only  piece  of  furniture  that  had  not 
been  overturned  in  the  struggle,  and  poured  out  half  a  glass 
of  brandy  from  the  decanter.  He  drank  it  greedily,  and  then 
for  the  first  time  a  slight  flush  came  back  into  his  pale  cheeks. 

"  Are  they  coming? "  he  asked. 

"Yes,  in  a  moment  they  will  be  here,"  she  cried.  "There 
is  not  a  moment  to  be  wasted.  Come,"  she  said,  half  support- 
ing him;  "  we  shall  escape  yet." 

"  Yes,  yes,  Marsh,  we  will  go,"  murmured  the  old  man. 
"Hurry,  hurry!"  she  cried,  urging  him  on.      "Did  you 
hear  that? "  as  a   defiant  yell  only  a  few  blocks  away  sent  a 
shudder  to  her  heart.     "  If  they  find  us  here  it  means  death." 

Half  supporting  and  half  pushing  him,  for  Mr.  Tilling- 
hurst  acted  like  one  palsied,  they  made  their  way  slowly  and 
painfully  over  the  disordered  floor,  with  its  broken  plate  and 
ragged  bits  of  cut  glass. 

The  terror  of  the  situation  gave  strength  to  the  weak,  al- 
most fainting  girl.  It  was  not  so  much  her  own  life  she 
feared  to  jeopardize,  but  his,  this  father  who  would  have  given 
her  over  shamelessly  to  the  arms  of  a  man  she  loathed.  They 
had  made  their  way  painfully  towards  the  door  leading  out 
into  the  hall,  when  Marcia  started  back  with  a  cry  of  dismay. 

A  man  dressed  in  greasy  overalls  and  a  juniper,  his  face 
smudged  with  lamp-black,  stood  in  the  hall  surveying  them 
calmly,  silently. 

Marcia  shrank  away  as  he  advanced.  A  feeling  of  faintness 
came  over  her.  Her  brain  seemed  on  fire  as  she  clutched 
blindly  at  the  wall  to  keep  herself  from  falling.  Still  the 
man  advanced  towards  them. 


THE  LAST  IN  THE  DINING-ROOM.  171 

" Don't  be  alarmed,  Miss,"  he  said  huskily;   "I've  come  to 
save  you  both." 

Marcia's  heart  gave  a  glad  leap. 
"  You— you  here,  John  Brent?  " 
"  Yes;  who  else  should  be  with  you  now? "  he  said. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE     ESCAPE. 

IT  was  no  time  for  either  Brent  or  Marcia  to  be  sentimental. 
From  the  street  they  could  hear  the  hoarse  shouts  of  the 
mob  and  the  tramp  of  many  feet.  To  linger,  even  for  a 
moment,  in  the  house  meant  certain  death. 

"  We  must  leave  the  house  at  once,"  said  Brent,  authorita- 
tively. "Your  father  seems  stupefied — here,  let  me  help 
you. "  He  thrust  Marcia  aside  and  then  took  hold  of  the  old 
man's  arm.  "  To  the  roof,"  he  said  to  Marcia,  pointing  up- 
stairs; "  it  is  our  only  M)pe." 

She  went  on  ahead,  only  stopping  now  and  then  to  turn  her 
head  to  look  back  at  her  father,  expecting  every  moment  to 
see  the  furious  mob  pour  in  the  doorway  and  call  to  them  to 
stop.  Brent's  presence,  however,  gave  her  new  courage, 
though  he  seemed  to  avert  his  eyes  every  time  she  tried  to 
look  him  straight  in  the  face.  Now  that  he  was  there  to  help 
her  father  along,  they  made  rapid  progress.  Tillinghurst  still 
seemed  loath  to  leave  his  home,  but  Brent  firmly  but  kindly 
urged  him  on  for  his  daughter's  sake,  and  he  obeyed  reluc- 
tantly. They  had  reached  the  fourth  floor  in  safety,  when  a 
howl  was  heard  from  the  street  in  front  of  the  house,  and  the 
stamping  of  many  feet  and  the  rattle  of  fire-arms. 

"Quick — quick!"  cried  Brent,  pushing  Mr.  Tillinghurst  up 
the  short  flight  of  steps  leading  to  the  skylight.  Marcia  could 
not  lift  the  trap,  it  was  so  heavy.  Brent,  as  he  helped  her, 
touched  her  hands  by  mistake,  and  started  visibly. 

Did  he  hate  her  so,  she  wondered? 

They  had  just  gained  the  roof,  and  closed  and  fastened  the 
trap,  when  a  howl  of  rage  from  the  mob  in  the  street  as- 
sured them  that  the  house  had  been  vacated  just  in  time. 

From  their  high  place  on  the  roof,  the  fugitives  saw  down 
the  street  a  seething  mass  of  humanity  waving  torches  and 
screaming  'hoarsely,  while  the  sound  of  breaking  glass  told, 


THE  ESCAPE.  173 

the  story  that  they  were  smashing  the  windows  of  the  houses 
they  passed  by. 

Tillinghurst  was  trembling  fearfully,  and  Brent  made  haste 
to  hurry  his  charges  away  from  the  sight  of  the  crowd  in  the 
street.  In  the  direction  of  Madison  Square  they  saw  that 
the  air  was  filled  with  sparks  from  burning  buildings,  and 
that  all  the  sky  was  tinted  a  deep,  lurid  red. 

They  made  their  way  with  difficulty  over  the  uneven  roofs, 
and  several  times  Marcia  came  near  falling,  if  Brent  had  not 
been  there  to  lend  her  assistance,  though  he  had  his  hands  full 
in  taking  care  of  her  father. 

So,  by  painful  degrees,  they  made  their  way  over  the  house- 
tops until  they  reached  the  corner  of  Sixth  Avenue,  and  stood 
now  on  the  top  of  a  small  French  flat  that  had  been  lately 
built,  and  was  still  in  an  unfinished  condition.  Brent,  who 
seemed  to  be  perfectly  familiar  with  the  ground,  led  them 
down  through  the  trap  in  the  roof  to  the  top  floor  of  the  build- 
ing. At  the  end  of  the  hall  a  fire-escape  led  into  a  narrow 
court,  littered  with  lumber  and  a  debris  of  building  material. 

"  Can  you  go  down  that  ladder  alone,  do  you  think? "  Brent 
asked  Marcia.  "  It  is  our  only  chance." 

"I  will  try,"  she  said;  and  though  trembling  all  over  from 
the  effects  of  the  recent  excitement,  she  commenced  to  cau- 
tiously make  the  perilous  descent,  while  Brent  watched  her 
eagerly. 

"  When  are  we  going  home?  "  asked  Mr.  Tillinghurst  feebly; 
and  Brent  was  reminded  that  he  had  a  still  greater  charge  on 
his  hands  to  care  for. 

"  Soon,  very  soon,  I  hope,"  the  young  man  tried  to  say  cheer- 
fully. 

If  the  millionaire  had  been  taking  a  narcotic  he  could  not 
have  acted  in  a  more  stupefied  way  than  he  did. 

Brent  shook  him  rather  forcibly  by  the  arm :  ' '  We  must  go 
down  that  ladder,"  pointing  to  the  fire-escape;  " do  you  think 
you  are  strong  enough  to  make  the  effort? " 

"I— I— I'll  try,  John,"  he  said,  feebly. 

Brent  took  a  rope  out  of  his  coat  pocket,  and  making  a  noose 
out  of  it,  slipped  it  over  Mr.  Tillinghurst's  arms,  and  then  fast- 
ened it  securely  to  his  own  waist.  With  a  few  soothing  and 
comforting  words,  he  persuaded  the  old  man  to  attempt  thy 


174  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

descent.  A  moving  white  figure  at  the  bottom  of  the  ladder 
assured  him  that  Marcia  was  safe,  but  was  watching  them 
anxiously. 

How  long  it  took  to  go  down  that  ladder!  To  Brent  it 
seemed  hours.  Twice  Tillinghurst  slipped,  and  would  have 
fallen  if  the  rope  securely  tied  to  Brent's  waist  had  not  saved 
him  from  a  terrible  death  on  the  flagging  below . 

Marcia  gave  a  sigh  of  relief  as  the  two  black  figures,  clinging 
like  giant  flies  to  the  narrow  ladder,  came  nearer  and  nearer, 
and  at  last  stood  beside  her. 

Brent,  who  had  evidently  arranged  everything  beforehand, 
dragged  out  of  the  great  rain-spout  that  ran  down  the  side 
of  the  flat  a  long  black  mantle,  with  a  hood,  and  a  pair  of  felt 
slippers. 

"  Put  these  on,"  he  said  to  Marcia;  "your  ball  dress  would 
attract  attention,  and  we  are  not  out  of  danger  yet." 

The  white  satin  slippers,  embroidered  with  seed-pearls,  were 
exchanged  for  the  more  homely  ones  of  gray  felt.  Brent  pre- 
tended to  hide  the  ones  she  had  taken  off  in  a  box  of  shavings 
near  by,  but  he  found  a  chance  to  slip  one  of  them  into  his 
pocket,  as  Marcia  was  wrapping  herself  up  in  the  cloak. 

The  old  broker  had  no  hat  on  his  head,  so  Brent  took  off  the 
greasy  Kossuth  he  was  wearing,  and  put  it  on  Tillinghurst's 
head,  turning  up  the  collar  of  the  old  man's  dress  suit  at  the 
same  time,  and  pinning  it  securely  together  at  the  throat. 

In  that  uncertain  light  no  one  would  have  been  able  to  recog- 
nize the  millionaire  and  his  daughter ;  and,  to  aid  their  flight, 
a  heavy  fog  had  arisen  that  made  even  common  objects  indis- 
tinct. 

Thus  equipped  they  set  out,  Brent  holding  on  to  the  broker 
to  help  him  along,  with  Marcia,  on  the  other  side  of  her  father, 
trying,  weak  as  she  was,  to  aid  his  uncertain  footsteps.  The 
streets  through  which  they  passed  were  silent  and  deserted; 
only  from  the  direction  of  Murray  Hill  came  hoarse  cries  and 
the  occasional  sound  of  firing. 

"This  isn't  the  way  home,  is  it?"  asked  Mr.  Tillinghurst, 
querulously. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  Brent  replied;  "it  takes  longer  to  get  there  on 
account  of  the  fog." 


THE  ESCAPE.  175 

The  old  man  mumbled  as  if  he  had  some  doubts  about  the 
matter. 

So  they  led  him  along  down  the  avenue,  as  if  he  had  been  a 
wayward  child;  and  only  now  and  then  he  stopped  to  express 
a  fear  that  they  had  lost  their  way ;  but  a  few  words  readily 
soothed  him. 

The  fog  was  so  thick  when  the  little  party  at  last  arrived  at 
Fourteenth  Street,  opposite  Macy's,  that  Brent  could  hardly 
see  the  outlines  of  the  elevated  station. 

They  made  their  way  east  now,  as  cautiously  and  as  silently 
as  possible,  for  the  red  blots  in  the  mist  warned  them  that  they 
were  approaching  a  dangerous  neighborhood.  Union  Square 
was  one  of  the  rally  ing-places  of  the  mob,  Brent  knew;  but  he 
was  in  hopes  that  they  had  by  this  time  scattered  to  the  upper 
part  of  Fifth  Avenue,  where  their  field  of  vengeance  lay. 

The  red  spots  in  the  mist  grew  brighter  as  they  neared  the 
square,  but  whether  the  light  proceeded  from  bonfires  or  from 
torches  in  the  hands  of  the  rioters,  Brent  could  only  speculate. 

Crossing  University  Place,  some  black  object  came  lurching 
along  through  the  mist,  and  ran  straight  into  them. 

A  man  rather  uncertain  in  his  steps  and  dressed  in  a  long 
cloak  looked  at  them  and  then  swore  mildly.  Slung  across 
his  shoulder  he  had  a  gun,  which -wobbled  so  in  his  nervous 
fingers  that  it  looked  as  if  it  might  fall  at  any  moment  and 
explode. 

"  Wash  dish? "  he  exclaimed,  unsteadily  laying  one  hand  on 
Brent's  shoulder,  and  trying  to  keep  his  head  steady  enough  to 
look  at  the  young  man.  "Why  ze  deveil  ain't  you  up-to\vn 
shtead  o'  mousin'  round  here,  heh?"  lurching  forward  heavily. 
"Heh?" 

' '  Well,  you  see,  my  family  followed  me  out  on  the  barri- 
cades," said  Brent,  with  a  laugh,  "  and  I'm  getting  them 
home. " 

"  Right  ye  be,  ole  man,"  roared  the  other,  "  No  place  for  old 
folks  when  patriots  lay  out  despots.  But  who'sh  girl?  "  look- 
ing at  Marcia  curiously;  "who'sh  gal? — she  ain't  ole  folk'sh — 
not  by  damn  side— she  ain't  ole  folk'sh." 

He  reeled  forward  as  if  he  wanted  to  put  his  arm  around 
her,  but  Brent  interposed  in  a  good-natured  way. 


176  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

'!  Here — here,  fair  play!"  he  said;  "that's  my  wife;"  and 
Marcia  little  knew  the  pain  the  words  cost  him  to  utter. 

"Your  wife,  eh?  Well,  all  I  got  to  shay  is,  you  got  bully 

good  taste;  if  you  haven't,  d me.  But  shay,"  getting  his 

arm  affectionately  about  Brent's  neck;  "you  get  your  folksh 
home  as  soon  as  you  can,  for  there's  goin'  to  be  a  high  old  time 
Tip  the  avenue,  pretty  soon.  The  boys  is  went  up  there  to  drag 
old  Tillinghurst  out  of  his  cage — an' — an'  when  they  get  him, 
they're — they're  goin'  to  make  him  eat  that  notice  about  not 
takin'  strikers  back,  and  then  they're  goin'  to— to — 

"  Oh,  I'll  be  there,"  interrupted  Brent,  with  a  laugh,  fearing 
that  Tillinghurst,  who  seemed  to  wake  up  at  the  sound  of  his 
name,  would  betray  them. 

"But  what's  .matter  wish  ole  man? "  asked  the  sentry,  look- 
ing suspiciously  at  the  old  broker. 

"Oh,  never  mind  him,"  Brent  returned;  "little  gone  up 
here,"  tapping  his  forehead  significantly. 

"  I  see — I  see,"  mumbled  the  other.  "  Shay,  you  don't  hap- 
pen to  carry  a  flask,  do  you?  Thish  patriotism  is  might'  dry 
worksh." 

"  I've  got  what  is  just  as  good,"  said  Brent,  laying  a  silver 
dollar  in  the  man's  dirty  palm. 

"  Come  along,"  cried  tha't  worthy,  dragging  Brent  along  by 
the  arm.  ' '  We'll  go  and  fill  up  at  Mrs.  Muggins' — an'  —an' 
then  we'll  go  and  see  the  aristocrats  burn;  yes,  see  'em  burn." 

"  Not  to-night,  old  man,"  said  Brent,  gently;  "  I  have  to  get 
my  folks  home;  but  I  will  see  you  later.  Go  and  drink  on  me 
to  tne  success  of  the  cause. '' 

"I'll  drink  to  anything,"  said  the  inebriate,  staggering 
away.  "Now,  you  come  back,"  he  bawled  through  the  fog; 
"  for  I'll  wait  for  ye;  "  and  then  the  mist  blotted  him  out. 

"A  narrow  escape,"  gasped  Brent,  as  he  hurried  them 
along.  "  If  I  am  not  much  mistaken  we  have  passed  the  worst 
danger." 

At  the  corner  of  Third  Avenue  Marcia  started  with  a  cry  of 
fear.  The  body  of  a  man  was  swinging  to-and  fro  from  a 
lamp-post.  Brent  hastily  dragged  the  fainting  girl  away  from 
the  terrible  sight.  They  hurried  down  the  avenue  as  rapidly 
as  they  could  now.  The  fog  had  turned  from  a  dull  gray  to  a 
sickly  yellow,  and  they  knew  that  the  morning  was  slowly 


THE   ESCAPE.  177 

breaking.  Marcia  and  Brent  felt  a  great  sense  of  relief  when 
they  finally  turned  down  the  familiar  little  side-street  and 
came  in  sight  of  the  black  blot  they  knew  was  Bolger's  Court. 

For  once  the  dingy  old  rookery  was  silent,  and  if  the  dirty 
entrance  had  not  been  so  familiar,  Brent  might  have  imagined 
that  he  had  lost  his  way  and  strayed  into  the  wrong  house. 
Every  one  in  the  place  apparently,  including  the  noisy  Mr. 
Bowker,  had  rushed  to  the  centre  of  the  excitement  on  upper 
Fifth  Avenue.  Brent  could  not  have  chosen  a  better  retreat 
for  his  friends,  for  no  one  would  have  thought  of  finding  the 
millionaire  and  his  daughter  under  the  same  roof  that  shel- 
tered their  enemies. 

Kindly-faced  Mrs.  Skerritt  was  standing  on  the  first  land- 
ing, shading  a  candle  with  one  hand,  as  the  fugitives  entered. 

"I  was  afraid  something  had  happened  to  ye,"  she  said, 
looking  at  the  two  critically.  ' '  Dear,  dear,  but  these  is  terri- 
ble times ;  and  to  think  that  my  Joe  should  be  mixed  up  in  it ! 
Ah,  Miss,  it's  a  sorry  day  for  ye's  all ;  I'm  afraid  them  villains 
won't  leave  a  stone  of  yer  beautiful  house  standin'." 

"  Never  mind  about  the  house,  Mrs.  Skerritt,"  said  Marcia, 
hastily.  "  I'm  not  so  worried  about  that  as  I  am  about  my 
father." 

"And  what  might  ail  the  poor  gentleman?"  holding  her 
light  near  the  old  man's  face.  "  Is  he  sick? " 

"Yes,  the  shock  has  been  too  much  for  him;  a  few  days' 
rest  with  proper  care  is  all  he  needs.  Have  you  any  place 
you  can  put  us?  " 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Brent  saw  to  that,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Skerritt,  as 
she  led  the  way  up  the  stairs ;  ' '  and  as  I  told  him,  he  couldn't 
have  been  more  particular  if  he  was  bringin'  home  a  bride." 

Luckily  the  light  was  so  dim  that  Brent  could  not  see  the 
tell-tale  blush  that  rose  to  Marcia's  cheek. 

The  limited  resources  of  the  court,  always  crowded,  had 
been  severely  taxed  to  accommodate  the  expected  guests. 
Brent  had  expended  quite  a  sum  of  money  out  of  his  limited 
store  in  fixing  up  his  room,  which  Marcia  was  to  occupy,  in  a 
suitable  manner.  And  Joe's  room,  where  her  father  was  to 
lodge,  had  received  the  same  decorative  treatment. 

Marcia,  as  soon  as  she  crossed  the  threshold  of  Brent's  room, 
knew  the  hand  that  had  exhibited  such  taste  in  covering  up 
12 


178  ^  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

the  ghastly  walls  and  transforming  it  into  a  cosy  nest ;  and 
her  conscience  smote  her  at  every  fresh  evidence  of  his  unself- 
ish kindness. 

"I  wanted  to  say,"  said  Brent,  as  he  paused  for  a  moment  in 
the  corridor  before  leaving  her,  ' '  that  I  will  sit  up  with  your 
father;  he  might  get  worse  during  the  morning  and  need 
a  doctor.  If  you  need  anything,  Mrs.  Skerritt  is  easy  to 
awake." 

"  I  don't  think  I  ought  to  trouble  you  so  much,  Mr.  Brent," 
said  Marcia,  keeping  her  eyes  on  the  ground.  "You — you 
have  done  already  more  than  we  had  reason  to  expect." 

"I  will  say  good- night,"  he  added  coldly,  not  noticing  how 
tremulous  her  voice  was.  "  If  your  father  is  worse  I  will  take 
the  liberty  of  rapping  on  your  door ;  "  preparing  to  go. 

She  made  a  step  towards  him,  then  paused  and  hesitated : 
"You— you  will  at  least  let  me  thank  you  for  what  you  have 
done." 

"Certainly!    Good-night;"  how  harsh  his  voice  sounded! 

"Good-night,"  she  said,  with  lingering  emphasis. 

His  footsteps  echoed  down  the  corridor. 

"  What  a  wretch  I  am!  "  she  sobbed,  when  she  found  herself 
in  her  room  again.  "  He  will  never  forgive  me — never!  " 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  GUESTS  AT  BOLGER'S  COURT. 

THE  latest  news  from  the  siege  of  Fifth  Avenue  reached  Bol- 
ger's  Court.  Mrs.  Skerritt,  in  her  trips  back  and  forth  to  the 
fountain  in  the  court-yard  for  water,  heard  everything  that 
was  of  interest  from  the  slatternly  women  whose  husbands 
were  with  the  mob  and  guarding  the  barricades. 

Marcia  was  regaled  with  a  detailed  description  of  every- 
thing that  had  happened  during  the  night.  The  entire  avenue, 
from  Madison  Square  to  Central  Park,  was  in  the  hands  of  the 
mob,  who  had  barricaded  the  side-streets  against  the  approach 
of  other  forces,  with  furniture  looted  from  the  houses.  The 
rage  of  the  rioters  seemed  centred  on  Fifth  Avenue,  because 
some  of  the  richest  manufacturers  and  capitalists,  like  Tilling- 
hurst,  lived  there ;  and  the  neighbors  of  these  nabobs  had  to 
suffer  with  them,  though  for  no  fault  of  their  own.  A  dis- 
crimination, however,  was  shown  in  the  houses  to  be  sacked ; 
for  those  marked  out  for  vengeance  had  each  been  labelled  the 
night  before  with  a  cross  in  red  chalk,  a  sign  of  the  Recon- 
structionists ;  and,  except  for  breaking  the  windows,  the  other 
houses  were  spared. 

In  order  to  arm  the  mob,  the  various  armories  of  the  city 
regiments  had  been  pillaged,  and  the  fire-arms  distributed 
among  the  men.  The  military  power  of  the  city  was  crippled, 
and  the  citizens  made  only  a  few  feeble  attempts  to  rescue 
the  unhappy  people  on  the  avenue. 

So  far  the  mob  had  sacrificed  only  a  few  lives.  A  police- 
sergeant  who  had  charged  the  rioters  at  the  head  of  a  squad  of 
blue-coats  had  been  shot  down ;  and  a  capitalist  who  refused 
to  allow  his  house  to  be  pillaged  had  been  promptly  hung  from 
a  lamp-post ;  but  his  wife  and  family  had  been  allowed  to  leave 
unmolested. 

Even  the  rioters  themselves  knew  that  they  could  not  hold 
the  street  very  long ;  but  a  thirst  for  vengeance  against  their 

179 


180  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

oppressors,  and  the  calls  of  hunger,  had  driven  them  into  this 
mad  undertaking,  and  they  were  enjoying  their  triumph,  even 
if  it  was  only  to  be  of  short  duration. 

John  Brent's  time  was  so  occupied  looking  after  his  guests 
that  the  events  of  the  siege  troubled  him  very  little.  Mr.  Til- 
linghurst  had  been  delirious  all  night,  and  a  doctor  was  found 
necessary.  He  had  babbled  of  strange  things  during  his  ill- 
ness, and  once  or  twice  Brent  had  heard  his  own  name  men- 
tioned in  connection  with  certain  circumstances  which  set  him 
wondering. 

Sitting  there,  in  the  dimly  lighted  room,  waiting  for  the 
morning,  the  rich  man's  talk  served  to  keep  him  awake.  He 
found  himself  piecing  together  the  bits  of  the  strange  story  as 
they  fell  from  the  old  man's  lips.  Each  new  sentence  spoken 
during  the  delirium  only  verified  Brent's  fears  that  the  help- 
less man  who  lay  before  him,  tossing  with  the  fever,  was  the 
one  who  had  robbed  him  of  his  inheritance.  He  might  have 
forgiven  the  loss  of  the  money,  but  he  could  not  forgive  the 
loss  of  the  woman  he  loved. 

He  saw  it  all  now  clearly,  as  he  walked  up  and  down  that 
narrow  room  with  quick,  nervous  strides.  Captain  Shrike  had 
in  some  way  come  into  possession  of  the  broker's  secret,  and 
had  used  it  to  force  a  marriage  with  Marcia.  It  was  a  great 
sense  of  relief  to  Brent  to  learn  that,  after  all,  she  had  been 
driven  to  act  as  she  did,  and  that  it  was  not  of  her  own  free 
will. 

What  if  she  still  loved  him?  But  no!  that  was  too  much 
happiness  for  him  to  expect.  Yet,  somehow,  the  old  love 
revived  within  him  in  all  its  intensity,  and  he  felt  a  fresh 
hope  rise  in  his  heart. 

He  was  in  a  happier  mood  than  he  had  experienced  since 
the  day  he  turned  away  from  her  door  in  despair. 

About  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  Marcia  came  in,  and  see- 
ing how  pale  Brent  looked,  insisted  on  relieving  him. 

"  Did  papa  talk  much  during  his  delirium?  "  she  asked,  a  little 
afraid  lest  Brent  might  have  learned  the  secret  that  had  been 
the  cause  of  all  the  misery. 

"  A  great  deal,"  said  Brent  evasively,  "  but  so  brokenly  as 
to  be  almost  unintelligible.  The  doctor  says  he  will  pull 
through  all  right  as  soon  as  this  fever  leaves  him.  I  will  go 


THE  GUESTS  AT  BOLGER'S  COURT.  181 

and  see  if  breakfast  is  not  ready.  You  must  need  something 
strengthening  after  the  adventures  of  last  night." 

She  let  him  go  without  another  word.  There  was  some- 
thing in  the  quiet  way  he  went  about  ministering  to  her  com- 
fort, that  could  not  be  paid  with  mere  thanks.  She  was  awed 
by  the  magnanimous  spirit  that  could  suffer  as  he  had  suffered, 
without  a  word  of  reproach  for  the  one  who  had  caused  all 
the  misery.  Why  did  he  look  at  her  in  that  cold,  unrelenting 
way,  whenever  their  eyes  met?  Had  she  not  suffered  too  on 
account  of  that  wretched  marriage  affair? 

Mrs.  Skerritt  bustled  into  the  room  in  a  few  moments  with 
the  breakfast,  and  Marcia,  who  was  faint  from  the  occurrences 
of  the  past  twelve  hours,  was  glad  of  even  such  plain  fare  as 
Bolger's  Court  provided. 

"Has  Mr.  Brent  gone  out?"  she  asked,  when  Mrs.  Skerritt 
had  arranged  the  breakfast  on  the  table. 

"I  think  he  did,  Miss.    Did  you  want  him  for  anything? " 

"  Oh,  dear,  no,"  hastily. 

"  'Cause  I  think  he's  stepped  around  to  the  market  to  get 
some  beef  to  make  beef -tea  for  your  father,  as  the  doctor 
ordered.  Oh,  he's  a  rare  one  for  lookin'  after  other  people's 
wants,  is  Mr.  Brent.  My  Joe  says  there  ain't  another  like  him 
in  the  world ; "  and  the  good  woman's  face  lit  up  with  enthu- 
siasm. 

"  He  has  a  kind  heart,"  said  Marcia,  simply,  pleased  and  yet 
pained  as  she  listened  to  Mrs.  Skerritt's  praise. 

"  Well,  I  should  say  so.  If  all  the  aristocrats  was  built  out 
of  the  same  stuff  as  him,  we  wouldn't  be  havin'  these  strikes 
nor  anything  like  the  troubles  we're  swimmin'  in  now ;  "  and 
so  she  rattled  on  for  some  moments,  until  the  arrival  of  the 
doctor  cut  short  her  garrulity. 

The  morning  passed,  but  John  Brent  did  not  return.  Marcia 
began  to  be  uneasy,  to  worry  about  his  absence.  Her  father, 
however,  called  for  all  her  watchful  care.  He  was  delirious 
again,  and  talking  in  his  sleep.  His  brain  seemed  full  of 
chaotic  visions ;  he  raved  about  his  house,  his  money,  about 
Shrike.  His  mind  went  wandering  back  in  the  mazes  of 
-memory.  He  was  starving;  he  was  swearing  at  J.  Cummings 
Rawdon,  and  snarling  at  Gredge. 

Then  a  name  came  up  she  had  never  heard  before,  a  name 


182  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

that  he  kept  repeating  over  and  over  again  to  himself.  Then 
she  heard  Brent's  name ;  and  then,  piece  by  piece,  she  added 
sentence  to  sentence,  and  knew  that  he  was  the  man  her 
father  had  wronged.  Tears  of  shame  filled  her  eyes.  She 
felt  doubly  guilty  now  of  having  wronged  Brent.  What  had 
he  not  suffered  at  their  hands !  And  yet,  to  make  the  burden 
of  obligation  more,  he  had  saved  them  from  the  fury  of  the 
mob  when  every  hope  was  gone.  Oh !  if  he  would  only  come 
back,  she  murmured,  as  she  sat  there  in  the  darkened  room, 
she  would  beg  his  forgiveness  even  on  her  knees. 

But  after  awhile,  as  he  did  not  come,  and  worn  out  with 
watching,  Marcia  sobbed  herself  to  sleep,  a  sleep  broken  with 
strange  dreams,  where  she  saw  the  menacing  face  of  Brent 
lifted  towards  her  threateningly. 

The  object  of  her  thoughts  had  been  spending  the  day  in  the 
interest  of  his  guests,  and  returned  home  at  evening  laden 
with  purchases.  Something  nice  and  delicate  from  the  mar- 
ket for  Mr.  Tillinghurst,  and  some  flowers  for  Marcia— just 
the  kind  he  had  been  wont  to  send  her  every  day  during  those 
brief  weeks  of  their  engagement. 

He  was  in  a  very  pleasant  mood  as  he  turned  into  the  Court. 
It  was  such  a  delight  to  be  living  under  the  same  roof  that 
sheltered  the  woman  he  loved,  and  to  be  able  to  minister  to 
her  wants.  He  begrudged  the  time  spent  away  from  her  side, 
and  yet,  until  she  made  some  sign  or  gave  him  some  token 
that  she  loved  him  still,  he  did  not  dare  to  speak  out. 

He  met  her  at  the  head  of  the  stairs.  Her  face  was  like 
death,  and  she  was  trembling. 

"  Have  you  seen  him? "  she  gasped. 

"Who?" 

"My  father!" 

"  Is  he  not  in  his  room? " 

"  No — no,"  she  sobbed.  "  God  forgive  me !  I  fell  asleep  this 
afternoon,  and  when  I  awoke  he  had  gone!  "  And  she  wrung 
her  hands  in  despair.  "I'm  afraid  he  has  gone  back  to  the 
house,"  she  moaned.  "  He  will  be  killed ! " 

"  And  you  have  searched  the  Court  thoroughly? " 

She  nodded  dumbly. 

"Go  back  to   your  room,   Marcia— I  mean   Miss   Tilling- 


THE  GUESTS  AT  BOLGER'S  COURT.  183 

hurst,"  he  said  kindly,  leading  her  away  from  the  stairs,  "  and 
rest  assured  that  I  will  find  him." 

"Where — are — you — going?"  she  faltered,  as  he  laid  his 
bundles  down  at  his  feet. 

"  To  find  your  father,  and  bring  him  back." 

"  Oh,  let  me  go  too,"  she  pleaded. 

He  shook  his  head.  "It  would  be  impossible.  I  can  cross 
the  lines  in  safety,  but  for  you  it  might  be  worse  than  death.'' 

"And  you  are  going  to  risk  your  life  for  him?  You  are 
going  into  that  murderous  crowd?  " 

"Yes;  good-night." 

He  ran  down  the  stairs,  away  from  her  pleading  eyes  that 
thrilled  him  so. 

"Jack — oh,  Jack !  "  she  cried  after  him — but  he  was  gone ! 


CHAPTEE  XXVI. 

MR.    TILLINGHURST  MEETS  AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE. 

WHEN  John  Tillinghurst  saw  that  his  daughter  was  sound 
asleep,  he  began  to  act  in  a  very  strange  way.  After  looking 
cautiously  about  the  room  for  some  moments,  he  slipped  noise- 
lessly out  of  bed  so  as  not  to  disturb  her  slumbers,  and  began 
to  dress  himself  slowly,  keeping  an  eye  on  her  all  the  time, 
and  mumbling  to  himself  incoherently. 

Though  the  fever  still  burned  in  his  face,  he  knew  well 
enough  what  he  was  about,  for  once,  when  Marcia  stirred  in 
her  sleep,  he  skipped  back  into  bed  again,  and  peered  at  her 
for  some  moments  until  satisfied  that  she  was  not  going  to 
wake  up.  As  she  continued  to  sleep  he  cautiously  resumed  his 
toilet. 

His  dress  coat  had  been  carried  off  by  Mrs.  Skerritt  to  be 
cleaned :  but  a  coat  belonging  to  her  son  Joe  lay  on  the  chair  in 
its  place,  and  the  millionaire  did  not  hesitate  a  moment  about 
putting  it  on.  It  took  him  a  long  while  to  dress,  because  his 
hands  trembled  so;  but  at  last  he  finished  the  task,  and  with 
one  farewell  look  at  Marcia,  he  crossed  the  threshold  and  crept 
slowly  and  noiselessly  down  the  stairs.  He  had  but  one  object 
in  view,  and  that  was  to  get  to  his  house  on  Fifth  Avenue 
and  save  it  from  the  mob  in  spite  of  everything. 

No  one  seeing  him  come  out  of  Bolger's  Court  would  have 
recognized  the  broken-down  old  man,  with  the  flushed,  feverish 
face,  who  looked  as  if  he  was  just  getting  over  a  debauch. 
His  trousers  were  torn  in  several  places  from  sliding  down  the 
fire-escape  the  night  before,  and  a  dirty,  slouched  hat  covered 
the  upper  part  of  his  face,  as  a  stubbly,  iron-gray  beard  hid 
the  lower.  Under  the  circumstances,  he  looked  like  a  broken- 
down  clerk,  as  he  shuffled  on  his  way,  mumbling  to  himself, 
and  keeping  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground.  When  he  arrived 
at  Thirty -fourth  Street  he  walked  west  until  he  reached  Fifth 
Avenue.  Here  he  was  interrogated  by  a  drunken  sentry,  but 

184 


J/JJ.  TILLINGHURST  MEETS  AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE.    185 

handing  over  his  watch  to  the  incorruptible  patriot,  he  was 
allowed  to  resume  his  way. 

Tillinghurst's  eyes  brightened  as  he  found  himself  once 
more  in  the  old  familiar  avenue.  A  frown  gathered  on  his 
forehead,  however,  when  he  saw  the  changes  that  had  been 
wrought  by  the  mob.  The  centre  of  the  street  was  piled  with 
broken  furniture,  window  curtains,  and  paintings  taken  from 
the  houses ;  and  in  some  places  the  elegant  debris  had  been 
fired  and  was  still  smouldering.  He  could  not  walk  a  step 
without  coming  upon  some  fresh  evidence  of  pillage ;  and  on 
one  corner  a  blue-coated  policeman  was  swaying  to  and  fro, 
suspended  from  a  lamp-post,  with  an  awful  expression  on  his 
pallid  face.  Over  the  marble  portico  of  the  Stewart  palace 
someone  had  written  in  charcoal  in  bold  characters,  "This 
was  the  house  of  a  tyrant ; "  and  on  the  massive  oaken  door 
was  nailed  a  blood-red  liberty  cap. 

Tillinghurst  saw  no  one  as  he  shuffled  along.  He  had  the 
whole  avenue  to  himself,  and  only  the  rattle  of  drums  from 
the  direction  of  Madison  Square  told  that  the  revolutionists 
were  still  at  their  posts. 

What  had  become  of  the  inmates  of  the  brown-stone  palaces 
he  passed?  If  he  had  cared  to  look  closely,  he  would  have 
seen  pale  faces  pressed  against  the  basement  gratings,  where 
the  flower  of  New  York  society  were  waiting  with  trembling 
hearts  expecting  every  moment  to  be  summoned  out  to  die. 

Some  houses  that  had  been  marked  for  pillage  had  their 
doors  torn  off  and  their  windows  smashed  in,  giving  glimpses 
of  rich  interiors,  where  the  furniture  had  been  broken  ana 
the  pictures  on  the  walls  slashed  into  ribbons. 

On  the  disordered  mind  of  John  Tillinghurst  these  sights? 
if  he  noticed  them,  made  no  impression  whatever.  He  was 
only  interested  in  getting  to  his  own  house,  being  filled  with 
the  mad  thought  that  he  was  still  in  time  to  save  it  from  the 
hands  of  the  mob. 

When  he  finally  arrived  in  front  of  the  elegant  stone  pile 
that  had  been  his  home,  he  found  that  it  had  suffered  more 
than  any  mansion  on  the  avenue,  and  -tears  of  rage  filled  his 
eyes.  The  great  oak  door,  torn  from  its  hinges,  lay  broken  on 
the  sidewalk,  and  the  broad  stone  steps  were  piled  high  with 
the  parlor  furniture  and  bric-a-brac,  so  smashed  that  nothing 


186  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

definite  could  be  distinguished  in  the  many-colored  mass,  but 
here  and  there  a  scrap  of  amber-colored  satin  window-curtains. 

A  sigh  came  from  the  old  man's  breast  as  he  clambered  over 
the  pile  laboriously  and  entered  the  hall. 

Here  he  found  his  paintings,  the  remains  of  a  Meissonier,  a 
Daubigny,  and  a  dozen  others,  torn  up  in  small  pieces  and 
scattered  over  the  tiles. 

Everywhere  wreck  and  ruin  met  his  eye.  They  had  spared 
nothing  that  could  be  smashed  or  disfigured. 

The  beautiful  Broadwood  piano  that  had  been  Marcia's  de- 
light was  nothing  now  but  a  pile  of  kindling  wood.  A  naiad 
by  St.  Gaudens,  that  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  drawing-room, 
looked  pathetic  with  its  broken  arms;  and  some  facetious 
hand  had  tied  a  dirty  red  handkerchief  over  the  eyes  and 
written  on  the  pedestal  with  a  bloody  finger,  "Justice." 

Tillinghurst's  breast  swelled  with  emotion  as  he  followed 
in  the  track  of  ruin,  with  eyes  wavering  and  teeth  grinding 
harshly  together  as  he  viewed  each  new  outrage. 

The  old  man  entered  the  dining-room  last  of  all,  and  as  he 
crossed  the  threshold  he  thought  of  the  change  that  had  taken 
place  since  the  night  before,  when  he  had  stood  at  the  head  of 
the  table,  the  host  of  one  of  the  most  brilliant  gatherings  the 
metropolis  had  ever  seen. 

The  shutters  were  still  closed  and  the  light  through  a  broken 
pane  came  reluctantly,  as  though  loth  to  enter  upon  that  scene 
of  ruin.  One  sunbeam,  striking  upon  the  pile  of  broken  glass 
and  plate  and  faded  flowers,  made  one  bright  spot  in  the  midst 
of  the  gloom. 

Something  moving  in  one  corner  of  the  room  startled  Tilling 
hurst's  attention.  He  opened  a  window-shutter  cautiously, 
and  keeping  close  to  the  wall,  crept  nearer  the  dark,  vacillat- 
ing object.  He  made  out  slowly  the  outlines  of  a  man,  who 
was  busy  at  work  pouring  bottles  of  brandy,  which  he  took 
out  of  the  buffet,  over  a  pile  of  books  that  he  had  brought  evi- 
dently from  the  library  adjoining. 

Tillinghurst  watched  him  for  some  moments  as  if  stupefied, 
while  the  man  went  on  busily  with  his  work,  tearing  up  the 
books  and  pouring  the  alchol  over  them,  mumbling  something 
to  himself  as  he  did  so. 

At  last  the  old  man's  addled  brain  succeeded  in  understand- 


MR.  TILLINGIIURST MEETS  AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE.  187 

ing  the  situation.  This  creature  in  black  was  about  to  fire  the 
house,  and  it  was  plainly  his  duty  to  prevent  it.  He  was 
about  to  make  some  angry  exclamation,  but  suddenly  changed 
his  mind,  and  went  over  and  tapped  the  bending  figure  lightly 
on  the  shoulder.  The  stranger  jumped  forward  with  an  excla- 
mation of  fear,  and  as  Tillinghurst  stepped  back  a  ray  of  light 
from  the  window  fell  full  upon  his  face.  The  incendiary  exam- 
ined it  slowly  and  critically,  and  then  burst  into  a  loud  laugh, 
that  was  harsh  as  the  bark  of  a  dog. 

"Oh,  it  is  you,  is  it?"  he  said.  "Well,  you're  just  in  time 
to  see  the  fun; "  and  he  again  busied  himself  pouring  brandy 
on  the  debris. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  said  Tillinghurst,  hoarsely. 
"I  never  saw  you  before;  "  eying  the  shabby  man  for  a  mo- 
ment, as  if  trying  to  remember  his  face. 

"Oh  yes,  you  have,  John  Tillinghurst,"  snarled  the  other. 
"Look  at  me  well,  and  try  and  think  hard;"  and  he  pushed 
his  face  close  up  to  the  other's,  while  the  words  hissed  through 
his  teeth.  "  If  you've  forgotten  me,  I've  not  forgotten  you.  I 
am  the  man  that  led  the  mob  here  last  night,  and  what  they 
forgot  to  do  I'm  here  to  finish  up." 

"But  I  never  saw  you  before,"  quavered  the  old  man, 
alarmed  at  the  fierce  eyes  that  glared  at  him  like  a  wolf's. 

"You  lie,"  screamed  the  other,  pushing  him  toward  the  win- 
dow till  he  stood  in  the  light,  and  all  his  red,  sodden  features 
were  prominent.  "  You  know  me — I'm  old  man  Bowker." 

' '  I — I — don't ;  I  never  heard  the  name  before. " 

"Look  well." 

Tillinghurst  peered  tremblingly  into  the  face  so  close  to  his 
own,  and  then  turned  pale. 

"Yes,  I  was  J.  Cummings  Eawdon;  now  I'm  what's  left  of 
him,"  pushing  the  old  man  from  him.  "  I  am  not  pretty,  am 
I,  Mr.  Millionaire?  and  I  owe  you  one  for  marring  my  beauty, 
and  I  owe  you  one  for  making  me  crawl.  Those  were  the 
words.  They're  burned  into  my  heart.  Well,  it's  your  time 
to  crawl  now,"  his  face  inflamed  with  hate. 

He  hastily  applied  a  fusee  which  he  had  evidently  prepared, 
to  the  inflammable  pile.  A  long  tongue  of  flame  shot  up  to  the 
ceiling. 

"Stand  off!  "  he  cried,  as  Tillinghurst,  trembling  with  rage, 


188  A  SLAVE  OF  CIBCUM8TANCE8. 

rushed  forward.  "I've  waited  years  for  this;  to-night  my 
score  against  you  will  be  wiped  out." 

For  a  moment  the  two  men  stood  and  glared  at  each  other 
like  wild  beasts,  then  Tillinghurst  lifted  up  a  chair,  and  hurled 
it  with  all  his  strength  at  Eawdon.  With  a  mocking  laugh 
the  other  jumped  lightly  aside,  and  the  next  minute  he  had 
the  old  man  by  the  throat  and  a  terrible  struggle  followed. 

Over  and  over  the  floor  they  rolled ;  the  glass  cut  them,  and 
their  hands  and  faces  were  bleeding ;  but  still  they  fought  on, 
while  the  fire,  increasing  in  volume,  filled  the  air  with  a  heavy, 
sickening  smoke. 

Eawdon,  whose  hands  had  never  lost  their  deadly  clutch  on 
Tillinghurst's  throat,  saw  that  the  old  man  was  choking,  and 
renewed  his  efforts  to  throttle  him.  In  a  few  minutes  he  felt 
the  other's  hands  fall  away,  limp  and  impotent,  while  the  eyes 
were  closed  as  if  in  death,  and  his  face  was  ashen  gray. 

"You  made  me  crawl,  eh?"  snarled  Rawdon,  as  he  got  up 
and  spurned  his  enemy's  body  with  his  foot ;  ' '  well,  how  do 
you  like  some  of  it  yourself  I " 

The  fire  was  not  burning  fast  enough  to  suit  him,  so  he 
busied  himself  tearing  down  the  window-curtains  and  throw- 
ing them  into  the  flames.  He  wanted  to  make  sure  this  time 
that  only  ashes  would  be  left  of  his  enemy's  home. 

At  last  he  had  piled  on  to  the  fire  everything  in  the  room 
that  would  burn,  and  he  turned  to  go.  The  smoke  was  now  so 
dense  that  it  made  him  gasp  for  breath ;  but  he  lingered  a  mo- 
ment to  feel  about  on  the  floor  with  his  foot  for  Tillinghurst's 
body.  To  his  alarm  he  could  not  find  it.  He  spent  several 
valuable  moments  in  trying  to  find  out  if  his  enemy  had 
crawled  away.  At  last  the  flames  drove  him  to  the  door,  gasp- 
ing and  choking  from  the  sickening  smoke.  He  put  his  hand 
on  the  knob  to  turn  it,  and  then  his  heart  grew  cold  within 
him.  The  door  was  locked! 

Tillinghurst,  feigning  unconsciousness,  had  crept  away  when 
his  back  had  been  turned,  and  had  locked  him  in  ;  and  he  was 
caged  like  a  rat  in  a  trap.  In  vain  he  pounded  and  cursed  and 
screamed  and  battered  his  head  against  the  door  in  his  mad 
rage.  The  stout  oaken  panels  could  not  be  even  shaken  by 
the  assault.  Then,  on  his  knees,  he  prayed  to  Tillinghurst  to 
let  him  out,  but  the  only  reply  he  received  was  the  sound  of 


MR.  T1LL1NGIIURST  MEETS  AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE.  189 

mocking  laughter,  and  the  crackling  of  the  flames  that  crept 
nearer  and  nearer  to  him.  In  his  frenzy  he  dug  his  nails 
into  the  walls,  in  a  vain  effort  to  lift  himself  above  the  fury 
of  the  flames  that  reached  out  their  lurid  tongues,  as  if 
hungry  for  his  life.  Slowly,  insidiously  the  tide  of  fire  en- 
compassed him,  and  enfolded  him  with  a  fiery  veil.  A  scream 
of  hopeless  agony  burst  from  his  lips  as  he  fell  down  into  the 
flames  which  he  himself  had  kindled,  never  to  rise  again. 

The  morning  broke  in  mist  and  rain.  The  great  house  was 
only  a  pile  of  smouldering  walls,  and  in  front  of  the  black, 
cavernous  doorway  an  abject  figure  walked,  now  sobbing,  now 
laughing  and  mumbling  incoherently  to  himself. 

No  one  would  have  recognized  in  that  pitiful  object  the  once 
dapper  financier,  John  Tillinghurst. 

Here  John  Brent  found  him  after  a  long  search,  seated  on 
the  horse-block,  babbling  to  himself,  his  gray  hair  sodden  with 
rain,  his  teeth  chattering,  and  his  face  flushed  with  fever. 

Gently  but  firmly  he  led  the  old  man  away  from  the  house 
he  had  reared  with  so  much  pride,  now  a  smouldering  ruin. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

TWO  SHADOWS  ON  THE  WALL. 

THE  siege  of  Fifth  Avenue  ended  in  forty-eight  hours,  and 
only  the  barricades  in  the  streets  and  the  broken  doors  and 
windows  of  the  brown  stone  and  marble  palaces  told  the  story 
of  the  storm.  On  the  arrival  of  the  troops  called  out  by  the 
governor,  the  mob  had  scattered  to  their  holes  and  hiding- 
places,  and  were  allowed  to  go  unmolested.  The  police  knew 
the  ringleaders  in  the  revolutionary  ranks,  and  when  the  time 
came  it  would  be  easy  enough  to  find  them. 

On  the  second  day  the  sun  set  on  a  city  bustling  with  activ- 
ity and  life,  and  in  the  evening  the  electric  lights  flashed  forth, 
the  elevated  trains  were  running,  the  telegraph  wires  had  been 
repaired,  and  the  theatres  were  opened  to  a  multitude  of 
people,  only  too  eager  to  forget  the  troubles  they  had  just 
passed  through. 

The  approaches  to  Fifth  Avenue  were  now  guarded  at  every 
point  by  Zalinski  dynamite  guns,  and  all  suspicious  characters 
lingering  about  the  great  thoroughfare  were  locked  up  if  they 
could  not  satisfactorily  explain  their  business. 

John  Brent  had  removed  his  guests  from  Bolger's  Court  to  a 
quiet  little  hotel  on  West  Eleventh  Street,  where  the  comforts 
of  a  home  might  be  enjoyed  at  a  moderate  price.  Captain 
Shrike  had  not  been  heard  of  since  the  night  when  he  showed 
his  bravery  by  trampling  women  down  in  the  escape  from  the 
Tillinghurst  house.  A  club  acquaintance  of  Brent's  was  the 
authority  for  saying  that  he  had  seen  that  questionable  war- 
rior on  board  of  a  train  for  Philadelphia,  in  company  with  a 
burlesque  actress  who  sang  at  the  Alhambra,  but  he  may  have 
been  mistaken.  Brent  did  not  care  to  make  any  investigation 
to  verify  the  statement,  for  he  hoped  he  had  seen  the  last  of 
the  smug-faced  rascal  who  had  played  such  havoc  with  his 
happiness. 

Mr.  Tillinghurst  had  not  recovered  from  his  experience  in 

190 


TWO  SHADOWS  ON  THE  WALL.  191 

the  deserted  house,  and  the  doctors  all  pronounced  him  hope- 
lessly insane ;  though  there  was  a  possibility  that  he  might  in 
time  recover  some  of  his  reason.  His  insanity  was  of  the 
mildest  form,  however ;  and  Marcia  found  no  difficulty  what- 
ever in  managing  him,  and  would  not  hear  of  the  doctor's 
proposition  to  get  a  nurse. 

The  events  of  the  past  few  days  had  made  him  a  tottering 
old  man,  with  trembling  limbs  and  wavering  eyes,  and  hair 
white  as  snow.  He  would  sit  for  hours  in  the  sun,  babbling  to 
himself  and  singing,  and  sometimes  he  would  make  some  re- 
marks to  Marcia  which  were  so  well  worded  that  she  could 
hardly  believe  he  was  mad  at  all.  But  the  light  in  those 
sunken  eyes  only  flickered  for  a  moment,  and  then  went  out  \ 
and  next  he  would  be  singing  about  his  wife,  and  the  old  life 
when  he  was  so  miserably  poor. 

Marcia  was  so  lonely,  left  to  the  society  of  only  this  poor 
old  man.  Brent  seldom  stayed  long  when  he  came  to  see 
them  now,  pleading  business  as  an  excuse.  He  dropped  in  for 
a  few  moments  in  the  morning  and  evening,  to  see  if  there  was 
anything  that  she  wanted,  and  then  hurried  away,  as  if  he 
feared  to  stay  very  long  in  Marcia's  company. 

One  afternoon,  by  the  doctor's  advice,  she  took  her  father 
up  Fifth  Avenue  to  have  a  look  at  the  ruins  of  their  home,  hop- 
ing that  the  sight  of  it  might  serve  to  awaken  some  intelli- 
gence in  his  mind. 

The  fire  had  cleared  out  everything  inflammable,  but  the  iron 
and  marble  stairs  and  the  floors  of  terra-cotta  tiles  had  resisted 
the  flames,  and  they  were  able  to  enter  the  blackened,  melan- 
choly entrance  that  seemed  like  a  great  fireplace. 

She  stood  a  moment  deep  in  thought  in  the  centre  of  the  hall. 
Here  John  Brent  had  stood  that  night  when  he  saved  them 
from  the  mercy  of  the  mob.  What  would  have  become  of 
them,  she  thought,  with  a  shudder,  if  he  had  not  been  there  to 
encourage  them  and  point  out  a  way  of  escape?  She  sighed 
deeply.  Was  she  always  to  come  upon  some  fresh  proof  of  her 
indebtedness  to  him— this  man  she  had  spurned? 

"I'll  never  give  a  ball  again,"  quavered  Mr.  Tillinghurst, 
leaning  on  his  daughter's  arm.  "  Just  see  how  they've  ruined 
everything; "  and  a  tear  trickled  down  his  pale  cheek. 

Marcia  soothed  him  as  best  she  could;  and  as  he  seemed 


192  A  SLAVE  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

very  much  exhausted  from  his  walk,  she  fixed  him  up  a  place 
in  one  corner  of  the  dining-room,  where  the  sun  shone 
brightly,  and  where  he  could  look  out  on  the  passers-by  in  the 
street.  He  was  soon  wandering  in  thought  again  through  the 
old  by-ways  of  his  life,  and  had  forgotten  all  about  where  he 
was,  as  he  broke,out  into  a  song  he  had  heard,  perhaps  in  his 
boyhood,  keeping  time  with  his  long,  knobby  fingers  on  the 
sill. 

As  he  never  stirred  from  his  seat  until  led  away  by  some- 
one, Marcia  took  a  look  through  the  deserted  rooms,  that  now 
had  a  pathetic  interest  to  her  eyes. 

Could  that  gaping  hole  in  the  centre  of  the  drawing-room  be 
the  fire-place  by  which  she  had  sat  so  many  evenings,  and 
skimmed  over  novels,  and  idled  away  her  time,  and  where 
he  had  come,  and  they  had  read  Mrs.  Browning's  sonnets  to- 
gether? Oh!  surely  this  could  not  be  the  place,  and  she  could 
not,  in  truth,  be  that  happy  girl  whose  heart  was  thrilled  with 
the  words.  And  Marcia  found  herself  repeating — 

"  A  saddened  face  beloved  did  bear, 
A  heavy  heart  beloved  have  I  borne 
From " 

"This  is  a  sad  home-coming  for  you,  Miss  Tillinghurst," 
said  a  voice  at  her  elbow. 

John  Brent  stood  in  the  doorway,  surveying  her  curiously ; 
she  flushed  and  lowered  her  eyes. 

"It  is  harder  than  I  thought,"  she  faltered.  "I  did  not 
know  before  that  I  had  any  sentimental  feeling  for  the  old 
house;  but  remembering  what  it  was— it  has  a  pathetic — a 
pathetic  interest  now." 

"It  will  all  be  rebuilt,  and  on  a  grander  scale  than  ever,"  he 
said  cheerfully,  coming  nearer  to  her. 

"Never  by  me." 

He  gave  her  a  quick,  suspicious  look. 

"  Why,  Miss  Tillinghurst?    You  surely—  " 

"Mr.  Brent,"  she  interrupted,  her  face  paling,  "it  is  time 
that  everything  should  be  made  clear  to  you.  My  father 
robbed  you  of  your  inheritance — yes,  robbed  you,"  as  he  lifted 
his  hand  with  a  gesture  of  dissent ;  "  there  is  no  other  name  for 
it.  I  heard  the  whole  stoi'y  of  your  wrongs  the  other  day  dur- 


TWO  SHADOWS  ON  THE  WALL.  193 

ing  his  delirium.  He  had  confessed  to  me  the  story  of  his 
crime  before,  and  it  was  the  price  of  Captain  Shrike's  silence 
that  I  should  marry  him.  I  did  not  know  that  you  were  the 
one  so  cruelly  wronged,  or  I  should  never  have  consented — not 
at  any  price." 

"You  should  not  credit  the  ravings  of  a  man  in  delirium," 
said  Brent ;  ' '  you  will  not  surely  believe — 

"  Mr.  Brent,"  she  cried,  facing  him,  "do  you  doubt  the  truth 
of  what  I  am  saying?  " 

He  stammered,  and  twisted  his  hat  nervously  in  his  fingers. 

"I— I  wanted  to  tell  you,"  she  faltered,  "  that  we  will  give 
up  everything,  and  that  it  is  a  matter  of  regret  that  there  is 
not  more.  I  know,"  as  he  was  about  to  speak,  "that  there 
are  many  things  that  we  cannot  repay,  wrongs  that  can  never 
be  forgotten — but  will  you  not  say  that  at  least  you  forgive?" 

She  looked  at  him  with  tear-dimmed  eyes  and  quivering  lips, 
and  his  heart  bled  for  her. 

"  Miss  Tillinghurst,"  he  said  slowly,  for  the  words  came  with 
difficulty,  "  I  will  not  attempt  to  say  that  I  knew  nothing  of 
this — this  past  occurrence  ;  but  it  is  all  over  now,  and  I  dare 
say  I  am  all  the  more  of  a  man  for  the  experience.  It  will  be 
easier  for  me  to  forgive,  but  not  so  easy  to  forget.  I  cannot 
let  you  beggar  yourself  for  my  sake ;  you  have  a  burden  in 
your  father  now  to  care  for.  I  am  young  and  strong,  and  am 
already  assured  of  a  good  income.  I  came  to  bid  you  good- 
bye." 

"Good-bye? "  she  echoed. 

"Yes,  I  am  going  to  Chicago;  I  have  been  offered  a  splendid 
chance  in  business  there  that  I  cannot  afford  to  neglect." 

"And  you  were  going  away  without  say  ing  a  word  about 
the  wrong  that  had  been  done  you?  " 

He  was  silent. 

"  I  am  glad  that,  even  at  this  late  hour,  there  is  still  time  to 
make  restitution,"  as  she  read  her  answer  in  his  downcast 
eyes.  "You  will  at  least  let  me  have  that  satisfaction?" 

"  Since  you  wish  it.  But  I  am  sorry  that  you  heard  of  this 
story." 

He  saw  that,  to  a  woman  of  her  pride,  it  would  be  an  insult 
to  insist  on  her  keeping  the  money.  He  had  hoped  that  she 
would  never  hear  how  her  father  had  robbed  him.  The  con- 
13 


104  A  SLAVE  OF  Cltt 

versation  r:id  pained  her  greatly.  He  saw  that  it  would  be 
merciful  to  her  to  shorten  it. 

"Let  us  rejoin  your  father,"  he  said,  after  a  moment's 
silence;  "he  might  get  into  danger  if  he  chanced  to  move/' 

Marcia's  face  flushed  greatly,  for  she  had  for  the  time 
forgotten  all  about  her  charge  during  their  conversation.  Ho 
was  only  in  the  next  room,  however,  and  they  would  surely 
have  heard  if  any  danger  had  befallen  him. 

As  they  crossed  the  threshold  they  saw  the  pathetic  figure 
of  the  old  man  seated  in  the  window,  the  sunlight  on  his  white 
hair  and  sunken,  lustreless  eyes,  while  his  nerveless  hands 
were  moving  about  restlessly  in  the  air,  as  if  he  were  writing 
imaginary  characters. 

"  I'll  have  to  put  up  more  margin,"  he  murmured,  as  they 
entered ;  "  always  more  margin. " 

Marcia,  absorbed  in  the  sad  spectacle,  which,  though  famil- 
iar, seemed  like  a  fresh  sorrow  to  her  then,  did  not  look  where 
she  was  going,  and  tripped  over  a  ragged  piece  of  flooring. 
She  would  have  fallen  if  Brent  had  not  caught  her  in  his  arms. 

"  Marcia — Marcia!  "  he  cried,  "  would  you  let  me  go  away 
without  a  word — and  I  might  never  see  you  again? " 

"I  have  only  filled  your  life  with  misery,"  she  sobbed; 
"there  is  no  misfortune  that  you  cannot  trace  to  me  or 
mine — 

"Don't  speak  of  what  is  past,"  he  said  gently,  as  she  disen- 
gaged herself  from  his  arms.  "We  agreed  to  forget  that. 
Marcia,  I  thought  I  could  leave  you  with  a  simple  good-bye, 
but  the  sight  of  that  dear  old  room  where  we  used  to  meet  re- 
vived the  old  memories  which  I  have  been  trying  hard  to  for- 
get." 

"  Why  are  you  going  away  ? "  she  faltered,  tapping  the  floor 
nervously  with  her  foot.  "  I— I  thought  you  liked  New 
York." 

' '  I  am  going  away  because  the  woman  I  love  will  not  say 
the  word  to  call  me  back. " 

He  looked  at  her  flushed  face  and  downcast  eyes  eagerly, 
as  if  he  expected  an  answer.  It  did  not  come,  and  he  turned 
with  a  sigh. 

"Good-bye,  Miss  Tillinghurst."  holding  out  his  hand ;  "good- 
bye." 


TWO  SHADOWS  ON  THE  WALL.  195 

"You  shall  not  go,  Jack,"  the  tears  gathering  in  her  eyes, 
as  she  stepped  hastily  toward  him. 

"Marcia!"  he  cried,  gladly. 

A  shaft  of  sunlight  showed  two  shadows  outlined  against 
the  smoke-stained  wall,  one  with  upturned  face,  and  the  other 
leaning  forward  with  outstretched  arms.  Only  for  a  moment 
the  shadows  stood  in  that  position,  then — 

"A  risky  speculation  in  futures,"  murmured  the  old  broker, 
as  he  recorded  some  figures  in  the  air  with  his  nerveless  fin- 
gers. 


.  ; 


' 


' 


m 


* 


MW3F 


